tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-185200552024-03-08T11:39:28.378+00:00Whatever comes...........A place to write and ponderKritihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08001806886621335963noreply@blogger.comBlogger33125truetag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18520055.post-58535815933110498132014-10-09T14:12:00.005+01:002014-10-09T14:12:56.201+01:00Leanee the Mermaid<a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/" rel="license"><img alt="Creative Commons License" src="http://i.creativecommons.org/l/by-nc-nd/3.0/88x31.png" style="border-width: 0;" /></a><br />
This work is licenced under a <a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/" rel="license">Creative Commons Licence</a>.<br />
<br />
<div class="western">
This is more of an opening to a longer story I think but the brief was to write a 1000 word short story around someone else's sentence. I chose this<cite> </cite></div>
<div class="western">
<cite><br /></cite></div>
<div class="western">
<cite>OzFenric</cite></div>
<ul><div class="western">
"She rises through black waters, leaving the City
behind, and as the light above glimmers and grows, she knows she
will need to remember how to breathe."</div>
</ul>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Leanee was up early,
she'd hardly slept anyway. Today she was leaving her world and the
excitement made her tremble.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
''Don't be afraid
child. I know you are small but you have great strength from your
breeding and loving support from your people.'' said Mother. Leanee
didn't say ''I'm not afraid, I just can't think because I'm so happy
to be going'', instead she whispered to her mother. ''I won't let you
down, you don't have to worry.''</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Now she was on her
way, swimming strongly eyes wide open, she rises through black
waters, leaving the City behind, and as the light above glimmers and
grows, she knows she will need to remember how to breathe.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'I have been to the
surface before, I have to pull air in through my nose and mouth. My
lungs will expand and my gills will relax. It's easy.'</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Leanee pops her head
up out of the water, sucking in air as she looks around. The air
tastes sweet, just as she remembered and the coast looks familiar.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'I must be close to the
meeting place.' ''Hello, hello.'' Her voice sounds odd, it lacks
all the resonance that water gave it and sounds faint almost timid.
Her mother had reminded her of this before she'd left. ''Yes Mother,
you were right.'' she says looking down, ''as usual''.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Taking her bearings
from the rising Sun and the headland to the North she turns and swims
along the coast.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
At Gythio a boy stared
out to sea. He'd got up before Dawn too and had been pacing along the
beach to settle his nerves.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Will she come? Will I
like her? I've learned a lot about Merpeople but I don't know if
we'll be friends. I must be gentle, Father said.'
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
He pulls the pipes
from his waistband and blows a note. Merpeople loved music he'd been
told and Memnos had composed a new tune in preparation for this day.
He sits down on a rock and plays, closing his eyes to let the music
flow better. He began to enjoy himself, Memnos was brought up in the
wooded areas of Greece. His family usually travelled around the
southern coast in Winter and moved up to northern forests in Summer,
this year Memnos had stayed behind close to this beach waiting,
although the Sun was hot on his fur.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Leanee knows when she's
arrived at the right place; like most of her people she has sensitive
nostrils that help her identify places by sampling the water she
moves through. Now with her head above the water her ears hear music
and she catches sight of Memnos.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
She pulls herself up
onto a rock and unfastens her tail. She looks at the boy, noticing
the tiny horns on his head above ears that were twitching in her
direction. He was obviously pretending not to see her. She smiles at
her Mother's comment that Memnos' folk were not renowned for tact.
Merpeople thought self restraint was important and Leanee had been in
trouble for being too friendly with everyone she met.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
She stands up, tucks
the tail under arm, breathes deeply and walks a little unsteadily towards him. Memnos
plays his new melody again .</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'That's a pretty tune.
I like it.'
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Memnos opens his eyes
to look at her. 'Thank you I'm happy it pleased you. I'm glad we have
the chance to talk together before they come.'</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Leanee decides she
likes him because he makes her feel comfortable.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
' My mother told me
your people were friendly and fun to be with. I expected you to have
your family with you. I'm told you're more sociable than us
sea-dwellers.'</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'We thought it would be
easier if there was only me here. I've already said my Goodbyes.'</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'I can see that was
hard for you. You miss them, don't you?'</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'I do, yes, but I'm
excited about the future too. Do you know anything about the
Offworlders?'</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'No.' Leanee frowned. '
I don't think any of us ever met one before.'</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Same here; that's a
pity. I hope we don't get too much of a shock.' Memnos laughs. 'They
can't have grown extra arms or heads can they?'</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'I don't know. Mother
told me the Offworlders are highly advanced people, but would you
need to create extra limbs to live in Space?'</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'We're about to find
out. Look.' Memnos points to the West where a craft is flying
towards them.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
They watch as it
circles overhead and then comes vertically straight down a short distance away.
After a moment a door opens then a ramp is lowered.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Leanee swallows hard,
Memnos nods at her and they walk together toward the Offworlder
craft. A glow shows inside, it grows steadily brighter until it's
too strong for Leanee's eyes. Memnos sees her falter and takes her hand.
Then he gasps as the Offworlder comes down the ramp.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'It's an Angel. It has
wings. I never believed in Angels.'</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The tall shining figure
has an old lined face. It opens it's arms and says.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
' I never believed in
Fauns or Mermaids until today. My name is Michael, please come aboard
and I'll take you to my home.'</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
Kritihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08001806886621335963noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18520055.post-5644132578303027792014-09-29T11:56:00.002+01:002014-09-29T11:56:49.989+01:00The Last Third is mine.<a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/" rel="license"><img alt="Creative Commons License" src="http://i.creativecommons.org/l/by-nc-nd/3.0/88x31.png" style="border-width: 0;" /></a><br />
This work is licenced under a <a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/" rel="license">Creative Commons Licence</a>.<br />
<br />
A story by 3 authors<br />
<h2 class="western">
Thursday, September 18, 2014</h2>
<h3 class="western">
<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="5567090435211575164"></a>Friday Flash
Fiction: Half a Clue
</h3>
<div dir="LTR" id="post-body-5567090435211575164">
<div class="western">
I'm gradually getting photos in order, so I
thought I'd jump back into the Friday Flash Fiction with <a href="http://terribleminds.com/ramble/2014/09/12/flash-fiction-challenge-continuing-the-tale-part-two/">Chuck
Wendig's weekly challenge</a>. This week, the challenge was to
continue a story begun last week by another Wendigo. I selected
Jemima Pett's fun mystery, "Half a Clue." Just because he
can, Chuck changed the rules on us after the first week, so Ms.
Pett's half a story is now 1/3 of a story. Or whatever he insists
on. I complicated things enough for several more 500-word segments
if needed.<br /><br />Oh, and I finished early, so my Friday flash goes
up on Thursday. So sue me.</div>
<h3 class="western">
Half a Clue</h3>
<div class="western">
(This is what Jemima Pett wrote last week)<br />The
last thing Scarlett expected to find that morning was a dead
body.<br /><br />Despite, or perhaps because of, the excitement of the
previous evening she had not slept well. The stuffy old dinner party
had turned out to be so much more. As usual, she had been seated
next to the vicar, and his groping hands had strayed to her thigh on
several occasions. Her mother had asserted some years earlier that
little girls did not tell tales, especially about such a respectable
person. On maintaining the truth of her allegations, she had been
sent to her bed without supper for five consecutive days. She had
learned to endure and avoid as a result.<br /><br />The only person she
had confided in was Alba White, the cook. To her immense relief,
Alba just nodded. “Say nothing more,” she had advised, and gave
her a signal to give to the butler. On the next occasion the vicar’s
attentions became too intimate, Scarlett acted as planned, and the
reverend was mysteriously taken ill after the sweet course. Last
night it happened again, and Scarlett hoped the man of a different
god than hers could see it was divine retribution.<br /><br />She had
thrown off that mischief after dinner. Russell Peacock, home from
the war, and his mother had been the centre of attention. Russell
only had five days leave, but he looked so handsome – and so grown
up since their last meeting in the summer. They had known each other
since childhood, of course, but there was something so different
about him now, it made her heart fizz. Even their entrance had been
exciting. Reeves had announced them, of course, but as Russell had
shaken her father’s hand his eyes had turned to her, that sudden
spark shooting through her, confirming his thoughts were on her as
much as hers were of him.<br /><br />He had done his duty to the rest of
the company, of course, and he and Scarlett had only minutes
together before dinner was announced, minutes that Scarlett had
dissected and savoured in the early hours when she was trying to
sleep. Of course, she also examined the scene that, having simmered
throughout dinner, finally erupted afterwards. How dare the stuffy
old Colonel disagree with Russell about his analysis of the Hun?
What right had he to call Russell a ‘young pup’? Scarlett
thought Russell had been most heroic in the way he controlled his
rising embarrassment tinged with ire. The Colonel was drunk even
before he arrived, or so she had heard the professor whisper as he
gently led the old soldier onto the terrace after the
meal.<br /><br />Scarlett’s only regret about the evening was its
premature ending; Russell and his mother had to return early to
nurse his sick father.<br /><br />So much for Scarlett to think about.
No wonder she had risen early to see the dawn. It had just been the
last thing she expected to find: Colonel Mustard, in the library, a
revolver by his side.<br /><br />####</div>
<div class="western">
</div>
<div class="western">
<br />[And hereis where I take up the
tale]<br /><br />Scarlett drew in a breath to scream, then thought
better of it. A scream would draw the whole household, blustering or
hysterical as their personalities dictated. She closed her mouth and
rang for Reeves.<br /><br />She met the butler at the door. “It’s
the Colonel.”<br /><br />“Has he been taken ill, Miss
Scarlett?”<br /><br />“He’s been taken dead.” Surprised at her
own calm bluntness, Scarlett stepped aside to reveal the corpse on
the library rug. Reeves sniffed his disapproval, of bodies messing
up his rugs and of young ladies finding them.<br /><br />“You go to
the kitchen, and ask Cook for tea. I will telephone the police.”
<br /><br />An hour later, Inspector Clueso had them all lined up in the
lounge. A pair of policemen, or surgeons, or something, worked over
the thing in the library.<br /><br />Scarlett had blurted out the news
as soon as they were gathered, of course. Colonel Mustard was dead
in the library, with a revolver at his side. Speculation ran wild.
Whose revolver? Had he shot himself? Had someone else shot him, and
left the gun to make it look like suicide? Who could have hated the
old army man that much? People got annoyed with the Colonel, with
his rambling stories and his dogmatic pronouncements, but they
didn’t generally care that much what he said.<br /><br />Scarlett
hadn’t mentioned what her quick look at the body had shown her:
that the gun had not killed the Colonel. And she very much doubted
he had killed himself. Not that way.<br /><br />The Inspector looked
over the household. Mrs. White managed the staff at one end of the
room, while Reeves kept the family and guests comfortable in the
over-stuffed chairs around the fire. “Is anyone missing who was
here last night?”<br /><br />Scarlett glanced at her mother. “There’s
the Vicar,” she ventured. “Reverend Green.”<br /><br />“But he
went home after the pheasant, poor man,” her mother protested. “He
said he felt rather ill, and I’m sure he looked it.”<br /><br />Scarlett
avoided looking at Reeves. She was sure the Vicar had felt very ill
indeed.<br /><br />The professor cleared his throat. “There was Mrs.
Peacock and her son. They departed rather early, as the senior Mr.
Peacock is ill. Young Mr. Peacock is home on leave from
France.”<br /><br />Scarlett glared at him. How dare Professor Plum
hint that Russell could have had anything to do with it? She thought
of the Colonel’s blustering dismissal of all Russell’s opinions
about the war. But Russell had kept his temper so beautifully! And
anyway, he and his mother had been long gone before this had
happened. Well, the Inspector would have to figure it out. At least
so far he’d been smart enough not to mention how the man had
really died.<br /><br />Scarlett glanced out the tall windows that
opened onto the garden, and her heart began to pound. Russell
Peacock was crossing the wide lawn, his cap pushed back and lips
pursed as he whistled a tune she couldn’t hear, but imagined was
“A Long Way to Tipperary.”</div>
<div class="western">
<br /></div>
<div class="western">
<br /></div>
<div class="western">
--------------------------------------------------------- </div>
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
(My piece)</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Russell came in from
the garden, still whistling until he saw the assembled faces looking
at him.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
"I say. Whats up?
Everyone's looking rather glum."</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Inspector Clueso spoke
"Per'aps you can helpme. There's been a murder."
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
He pointed at Russell.
"You 'ad a quarrel wiz Colonel Mustard last night?"</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
"Not exactly. He
just didn't think I understood much about war. It was nothing."</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
"But you did not,
how you say?, kiss and make up before leaving did you?" Clueso
twiddled his moustache as he waited for an answer. Russell started to
speak but Scarlett jumped into the interrogation.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
"This isn't fair
. Russell went home and it was probably Professor Plum who was the
last person to see the Colonel alive."
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Clueso whirled around
to stare at Professor Plum who choked on his cup of tea.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
" I only talked to
the man for five minutes, tried to calm him down. We smoked a pipe on
the terrace then I came in and went to bed."</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
"You are 'ere as a
guest Professor? What kind of Professor are you?"
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
"I'm an
archaeologist Inspector, spent most of the last ten years in
Mesopotamia, that's where I first met Mustard, nice fellow, but a bit
long-winded."</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
"Ave you ever seen
this before Professor?" Clueso waved an elaborately carved
Silver dagger under the Professor's nose.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
" I most
certainly have. I found it on the Mesopotamian dig. It's at least
three thousand years old. Where did you get it?" The Professor
bristled.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
"I pulled it from
the chest of the Colonel Mustard." There was a communal gasp
from the room.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
"Why was it not in
your possession Professor?"</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
"I'm sure it was
locked in my suitcase. I'm going up to London to donate it to the
British Museum along with some seals and beads."</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
"Did anyone else
know you 'ad it in your room?"</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
"I don't think so,
maybe the servants." The Professor mopped his brow with a large
handkerchief, he looked flustered.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
"Then I shall 'ave
to arrest you on the charge of murder."
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Just then Reeves
arrived bringing more tea from the kitchen.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
"He was in the
Professor's room." said the Vicar who had just come in through
the french windows
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
".....and he's the
chap who was trying to poison me! I've been robbed as well."</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
There was chaos. The
Vicar accosted Reeves. The Professor collapsed into an armchair.
Russell grabbed Reeves as he tried to hit the Vicar and Clueso
watched it all.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
"I see it all
now........... said Scarlett.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
"The Butler Reeves
stole the dagger from the Professor's suitcase to sell it. He had it
on him when he came into the library. The Colonel who had just said
'Goodnight' to the Professor was still on the terrace. He saw Reeves
with the dagger and pulled out his gun. He must have told Reeves that
he knew he was a thief and was about to call the police when Reeves
threw the dagger into the Colonel's chest!"</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Clueso said. "Zhank
you Miss Scarlett. I could not have expressed it better. I recognized
ze Butler as a expert burglar I had arrested one time before zis. I
also know he had made ze Vicar ill so he could enter the Vicarage and
steal the valuable paintings there. Now he iz a murderer too."</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The constables took
Reeves away.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
"Per 'aps we
should make a partnership Miss Scarlett, you 'ave a flair for the
work."</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
"You're most kind
Inspector but I have another partnership in mind." Scarlett
smiled as Russell put his arm around her waist. " I think I
might have a flair for that too."</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
Kritihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08001806886621335963noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18520055.post-43466107752392732942014-09-12T15:47:00.000+01:002014-09-13T07:58:21.117+01:00The Middle Section<a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/" rel="license"><img alt="Creative Commons License" src="http://i.creativecommons.org/l/by-nc-nd/3.0/88x31.png" style="border-width: 0;" /></a><br />
This work is licenced under a <a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/" rel="license">Creative Commons Licence</a>.<br />
<br />
Last week I had to write the first 500 words of a story.<br />
This week I'm writing the middle section, another 500 words, to somebody else's story.<br />
I'm following on with Ryanjamesblack's story 'The End of the World according to Bill, Gus and Harry.'<br />
If this is confusing you, head over to http://terribleminds.com/ramble/2014/09/12/flash-fiction-challenge-continuing-the-tale-part-two/ and all will become clear.<br />
<br />
I should add that Ryan's story is very different to my usual stuff, so it's been quite a challenge to try and do it justice:<br />
<br />
<br />
<h1 class="western">
The End of the World According to Bill, Gus,
and Harry</h1>
<div class="western">
<a href="http://ryanjamesblack.wordpress.com/2014/09/06/the-end-of-the-world-according-to-bill-gus-and-harry/">September
6, 2014</a> by
</div>
<a href="http://ryanjamesblack.wordpress.com/author/ryanjamesblack/">ryanjamesblack</a><br />
<div class="western">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="western">
<br /></div>
<div class="western">
Three men stand around a table.</div>
<div class="western">
They were seated a moment ago, but sit no longer
because each of their chairs toppled as they leapt up and pulled out
their guns.</div>
<div class="western">
Gus’s gun is a Heckler & Koch HK45
semi-automatic pistol that he scavenged out of a pawn shop display
case. He has no idea how to use it. It’s pointing in the general
direction of Bill’s head.</div>
<div class="western">
Bill’s gun is a .357 Magnum that in actuality is
not a gun at all. It’s a movie prop. A replica. A rather poor one
at that. Regardless of its realness, it’s pointing dead center at
Harry’s chest.</div>
<div class="western">
Harry’s gun is not a gun at all. Not even a
replica. It’s a hand grenade he dug out of the WWII display at his
local history museum. It’s a real grenade, but unbeknownst to
Harry, a dud. He’s waving it at Gus, the way a Priest might
brandish a crucifix towards a vampire.</div>
<div class="western">
What’s got these three a-holes wound so tightly?
Ready to kill?</div>
<div class="western">
Each of them blame the other for the end of the
World.</div>
<div class="western">
Actually, the end of the human race, I suppose, is
more accurate. The World remains. The Starbucks, the Wal-marts, the
McDonalds, they’re all still there. Mossy, rank with rotten food,
and chalked full of wildlife, but still there. It’s the people that
are gone. POOF! All of them. All except for Bill, Gus, and Harry.</div>
<div class="western">
I know this because I did it.</div>
<div class="western">
I did it, but don’t misunderstand. I’m not
responsible. No. One of them is responsible. Bill, Gus, or Harry. One
of them summoned me.</div>
<div class="western">
Who am I? Well, I have lots of names. Leviathan
the Dimension Devourer, the Merciless Void, the Infinite Gaping
Pustule, the Fathomless Grotesque. The list goes on and on. You can
just call me Levi.</div>
<div class="western">
Like the jeans.</div>
<div class="western">
Before I take us back to the Gassy Narwhal Pub &
Eatery, to the Mexican stand-off between these giant turd sandwiches,
let me explain, how in the big empty world, they managed to find each
other.</div>
<div class="western">
Bill, Gus, and Harry each checked their email…</div>
<div class="western">
<br /></div>
<div class="western">
<i>This is an automated message from
Soulmatch.com. Sir/Madam, your profile indicates that you are seeking
a female, ages 21 – 45 as a friend/hook-up/mate. Regrettably, all
3,742,567 Soulmatch profiles save the following 3 have expired due to
dormancy:</i></div>
<div class="western">
<i>Gus, age 23 – “Whassup ladies? I don’t
wanna brag, but a chick once told me if you fed George Clooney, Brad
Pitt, some hair gel, and a can of orange paint through a wood
chipper, I’d be what comes out the other end. She maced me, but it
was totally a flirty kinda macing. Interested?”</i></div>
<div class="western">
<i>Bill, age 37 – “My Mother’s making me do
this”</i></div>
<div class="western">
<i>Harry, age 52 – “Hello. I am a recent
divorcee who is anxious to climb back up on the horse. Not that I’m
saying you’re a horse. Whoever you are. I’m sure you’re
extremely un-horse-like. Also, I didn’t mean to imply I’d be
climbing up on you. Unless you want me to. Ha ha ha. Please inbox me.
Please?”</i></div>
<div class="western">
<i>Would you like to adjust your sexual
preference?</i></div>
<div class="western">
<br /></div>
<div class="western">
That awkward email led to some awkward online
chatter, which eventually led to their face-to- face-to-face sit
down/stand up, which led to their weapons being shoved in said faces.</div>
<div class="western">
I’m not getting involved here.</div>
<div class="western">
I may be an all-powerful, interstellar deity, but
I don’t actually know who’s responsible for summoning me any more
than you. All I know, is one instant I was slumbering soundly outside
space and time, the next I was gorging myself on an all you can eat
buffet of human life force.</div>
<div class="western">
Yummy.</div>
<div class="western">
One of them did it. Ended the World.</div>
<div class="western">
Which means, strangely enough, that two of them
are completely innocent. How did those two avoid my intergalactic
digestive tract? Well, that’s a bit of a noodle scratcher also.</div>
<div class="western">
Bill, Gus, or Harry?</div>
<div class="western">
One of them did it. The question is, which one?</div>
<div class="western">
Let’s return to the Gassy Narwhal.</div>
<div class="western">
Harry’s finger just wormed its way into the
grenade pin.</div>
<div class="western">
Gus has five and a half pounds of finger pressure
on a six pound trigger, and he’s about to sneeze.</div>
<div class="western">
Bill has had to pee for the last four hours. He’s
about to say something stupid.</div>
<div class="western">
Let’s see how this plays out.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
------------------------------------------------------ Now for my bit--------------------------------------<br />
<br />
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Gus sneezes, he has an
explosive sneeze, the kind that makes dogs bark and cats yowl. His
finger pulls the trigger and absolutely nothing happens. It seems
like Gus doesn't know you need to put bullets in first. The other two
have dived to the floor but now they're embarrassed and get slowly to
their feet. Bill speaks.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Now I definitely gotta
pee. Stay right there.'
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
He heads for the door,
but it opens before he reaches it as the most incredible piece of Gorgeousness sashays into the bar. I can't imagine what the gormless
trio think but this girl is a red-head, my favourite kind. Her hair
cascades down over her shoulders, her breasts are capable of
independent motion; she has a waist so small it's hardly there at all
and hips that cry out for hands to grab hold of and pull towards you.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I'm generally sleepy
after a meal but suddenly blood is racing through every vein in my
body and every artery too, my heart is skipping around my chest and
my hands tingle and shake.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The guys must be
feeling something similar because they're transfixed apart from the
drool running down Harry's chin.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Hi fellas. Y'all got
my email then?
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
She smiles then turns
her gaze on me.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I don't recall invitin'
you Sweetie, but you're welcome to the party. My name is Lilith. Now
if any of you boys read your Bible lessons, that name'll mean
something to you. Does it?'
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Lilith's eyes pierce
each man in turn.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'You were Adam's wife,
weren't you?' Harry mumbles.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Correction! That
worthless piece of trash thought he was my husband.'
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Her eyes turn molten
gold.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'He was utterly
contemptible and it was an insult to try and mate him to me.'</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'You're awful pretty'
says Bill, his eyes on stalks
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Have you come to meet
me?'</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'I certainly have
Sugar.'
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Lilith purrs and I can
see a leopard's tail swaying below her skirt.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'And you other two
Precious boys, of course.'
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Harry and Gus preen and
glare at Bill.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Now why don't we go
upstairs where we can be comfortable....and away from the big Slob by
the bar.'
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I know she means me and
I'm stung by her dislike. I move to reproach her gently, but I'm
frozen to the spot. I can only watch as Lilith shoos her pets up to
the first floor.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Once she's left the
room I try to follow, I can move now but only in real slow motion. It
takes me ten minutes to make it to the upturned chairs. My progress
is accompanied by the sound of creaking bed-springs and cries that
may be blissful but sound more like agony. I start sweating. I
realise Lilith is killing those poor guys. I don't know why I feel
protective but I want to save them, although she certainly has a body
worth dying for.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Now it's gone quiet.
Are Gus, Bill and Harry dead? I can hear Lilith padding across the
room overhead. She's headed for the stairs. I think she's coming for
me.</div>
Kritihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08001806886621335963noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18520055.post-60253197791786337572014-09-06T17:14:00.001+01:002014-09-12T16:31:50.908+01:00It was a dark and stormy night..........................<a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/" rel="license"><img alt="Creative Commons License" src="http://i.creativecommons.org/l/by-nc-nd/3.0/88x31.png" style="border-width: 0;" /></a><br />
This work is licenced under a <a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/" rel="license">Creative Commons Licence</a>.<br />
<br />
This is the first 500 words of a story. The aim of this challenge is that somebody else will write the middle section, while a third person finishes it off.<br />
This could be interesting:<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
It was a dark and
stormy night, the night that I was born. My mother gave birth without
help because the villagers thought her cursed and dangerous. My
father was absent, as always when the moon was dark.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Next day as she slept,
my father's servant came and slipped a bag of gold and jewels beneath
her pillow; it wasn't a gift from my father, but Renwick had a soft
heart and had been fond of my mother. He also left a note, I still
have it. It simply says that my father had left for England and that
he might see me when he returned, but he never came back. He came to
a bad end near Whitby; the English having proved to be less cowardly
than the good folk of Transylvania.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
As soon as she could get
out of bed my mother slipped away, with me wrapped close to her body.
She travelled East because her people came from beyond the mountains.
I think her people were gypsies because she was a raven-haired beauty
with a fiery temper. We never found her family, but I don't think
we'd have been welcome anyway.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The years of my
childhood were years of constant travel; we'd stay a few months
somewhere, my mother would prostitute herself to make money and
sometimes she would sell a jewel. She never stayed long anywhere
because she knew I would eventually give us away. I had my father's
taste for blood and I would scream constantly until my needs were
met.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
When I was about ten
years old we met an elderly monk travelling the same hills as us. we
camped together and he talked all night with my mother. The next day
instead of heading to the large town in the valley we accompanied the
monk on his journey home.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
At his monastery I was
drugged and bound while my mother sobbed. When I awoke my mouth was
pure agony. My lips were swollen and I had no teeth.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The monk came to see
me.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Your poor mother has
suffered long for her sins. We have taken you so that she can be free
to live with ordinary people. You will not see her again; however we
will love and care for you. We will teach you how to live a good
life.'</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The first years were
terrible. The monks diet was vegetarian, but it did me no good to
scream or threaten. They would smile, pray and put me in solitary
confinement for a day or two. The same cycle would repeat until I was
willing to eat their food. I still do not like rice but I learned
that it fills the belly. Discipline was strict but they didn't make
me take part in their worship, instead I was allowed to read or draw.
Some months later, as they knew I would, I asked to join them in the
temple. I began to be a Buddhist.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
A life of tranquil
peace and study was mine until the day the armies came.</div>
Kritihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08001806886621335963noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18520055.post-42316128711791385642014-09-03T14:41:00.000+01:002014-09-04T07:36:21.027+01:00The Bewitching Chasm......title courtesy of Chuck Wendig<a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/" rel="license"><img alt="Creative Commons License" src="http://i.creativecommons.org/l/by-nc-nd/3.0/88x31.png" style="border-width: 0;" /></a><br />
This work is licenced under a <a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/" rel="license">Creative Commons Licence</a>.<br />
<br />
Another story written to a given title.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Rory had to get there.
It seemed easy enough, the eruption was happening in a remote area, but it was on tv in the
bar. The news said there were roadblocks to prevent anyone straying
too close but the place was deserted apart from daily patrols of
geologists. </div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The bartender said 'It's
unsafe in the wild parts, especially for a foreigner.' Rory felt
insulted, he wasn't foreign, he was English. </div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Fuckin' cheek'. Rory
like many of his kind, only felt patriotic when his nationality was
attacked.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
He'd sulked all the way
along the national road, his hangover worsened by the bouncy springs
on the bus. When the driver stopped and told him this was as close as
he could get Rory was standing in the road looking at the tail-lights
before he realised,</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'This is the middle of
fuckin' nowhere. Bastard!' he shouted at the disappearing vehicle.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'If this isn't the End
of the World it's near enough.' Rory's heart sank as the alcoholic
boost in courage leaked from his body. The road he stood on was
single track. On one side there was nothing but bare hills, on the
other there was a rocky convoluted coastline, no houses, no cafes,
not even a petrol station.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
He stood stock still,
thumb out for a lift and waited; after twenty minutes without a
single car or lorry passing he sighed and trudged off across the
hills.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'I'll see a farm soon
and they can tell me which way to go, maybe even gimme a lift on a
tractor; they'll certainly have some food.' He'd passed on breakfast,
knowing that he'd throw up if anything hit his quaking stomach.<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Rory had to admit
he was very much alone and it creeped him out.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'I can't even see any
planes up there.' he yelled at the sky. Then he saw the plume, Rory
didn't know that's what it was called, but in a clear blue sky a
long tapering cloud that seemed to go down behind these endless hills
had to be coming from a volcano. Rory had seen his fair share of
disaster movies and things were beginning to add up.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Course there's nobody
here. Fuckin' idiot. ' he told himself 'they've all been evacuated.
It's probably a sea of lava over there. I'd better get there quick
before it all stops.'</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The bet, so far as he
remembered the details had gone thus: they'd been discussing which
was more dangerous, a volcano erupting or a tsunami, when it all got
personal.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'You are shit scared
an' thass the truth.' Jamie had said to Rory.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'I ain't scared of any
stupid mountain you Dick-head.'</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Well go out there '
Jamie pointed at the tv showing lava somewhere, 'and bring some of
that stuff back then, because I think you're a bleedin' coward. You
don't have no balls Carter, you never have had.'<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
At that point Rory had
punched Jamie in the throat. The other lads had looked at him with a
new respect, this was turning out to be a great stag do, nobody
punched Jamie and lived to tell the tale, but there he was retching
on the floor of the bar and little Rory Carter had put him down
there.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Well good mate.'</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'That was a hell of a
punch'.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
' You was real tough
there.'</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The accolades petered
out and Jamie sat up. Before he could scream 'No don't say it you
Numpty' to himself Rory said.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'An I meant it about
that volcano. I'll go there tomorrow and I'll bring back the
evidence.'</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Cool'.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'You're braver than
me.'</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Shit.'
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Rory had been bought
more beers, even Jamie had bought him a pint when he'd regained the
power of speech and it was all bleedin' marvellous..........</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Now he was trudging up
this hill looking for a real exploding volcano and he was getting
scared because he could hear it.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
When he could
eventually see over the crest of the hill, there was nothing but
emptiness, that was the only word, the land was empty apart from the plume of dust and smoke that was
coming straight out of the ground and roaring defiance at him. It was
hard to tell how far it was away because there was a great plain
spread out before him. The ground was dark grey and chocolate brown
with streaks of yellow. It wasn't flat either, Rory could see large
cracks, they all looked old because they were dirty, sort of dusty
and dead. There was nothing growing anywhere around, no weeds, no
grass, nothing.<br />
The area where the plume started was hidden by some
grey mist rolling about and was also where the noise was coming
from. It wasn't continuous noise, mostly there was a dull rumbling
but there were occasional cracking and clapping sounds that hurt his ears.
He stood and sucked it all in.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'This ain't a great
place for a tourist trip, is it?' Rory asked of the scenery, ' but
it's bloody amazing. I never knew there could be so much space.'
Rory wished he had his dad with him so Rory could show him these wonders; his
dad had been a sailor and often told Rory there was nothing so
beautiful as the sea.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'I think I found
somewhere that stands up to your seas Dad. Jamie an' the rest would
hate it, no women, no football. I could go back and tell them what I
saw but they wouldn't care, not really. I've got here tho' and this is
all right innit?'
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
He took his mobile
phone out of his pocket, snapped a photo and sent it to Jamie. Rory
turned to go back over the hill, but he couldn't make himself walk
away from the sights. He turned to look again.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'I come this fuckin'
far an' I want to see this all for myself.' He started walking across
the plain, black dust puffing up around his feet.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Come on then! Call
yourself a fuckin' volcano? You ain't as good as the big fellas are
ye'z?'</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
It was an awesome sight
even though it wasn't a proper volcano. There was a long line of
little hillocks going away from him, most looked as if they'd been split
open with an axe; from them enormous spurts of red lava rushed up
into the air then splattered down and turned black. The black gobbets
were spreading across the plain and they'd gone a long way from
their source.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'I ain't gonna be able
to get right up to it, coz my boots'll catch fire.' Rory reminded
himself of the details of a favourite movie. 'In 'Dante's Peak' the
hero drove across the lava, but that's not much help to me.'<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
He was feeling very
hot. He'd opened his shirt as well as his jacket, but now he wound
his scarf across his face because the air stank.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Where would be a good
place to pick up a pretty bit of lava, Rory lad ?' He was glad nobody
could hear that he was talking to himself. He stopped and took stock
of the situation. He was scared sure enough, but he was more mesmerised by
these lava fountains and part of his mind was trying to work out the
pressure it must take to push lava up so high. The vents must go down
a long way too. He badly wanted to look down into those open chasms.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'I weren't bad at
physics in school. I could work it out if I could measure the height
properly, lava don't weigh much. It weighs less than water because it
floats.' This nugget he'd also gleaned from movies.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Rory decided that if he
went to his right where the lava wasn't so fresh he could find a cold
bit. Walking cautiously, but as close as he dared Rory passed
alongside the flow until he found an older section. Here the lava had
cooled and broken into pieces at it's leading edge; bits were falling
off and the upper surface was heavily crazed.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Here too was another
person. A man was laying face down, he looked dead. Rory knelt down
and turned him on his side. The man groaned.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Shit. He's alive. Come
on mate, wake up. It's not safe here.' The edge of the lava was
steadily moving towards them. Rory grabbed the man's arm and pulled him
across his own back. Then he got to his feet.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'You're no feather, are
yez?' Rory struggled to make his feet move, they seemed too heavy to
lift.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Come on. We ain't
going to die here, if I can help it.' His own words helped him to
move and he lurched away from the lava flow.<br />
It was the hardest thing he'd ever done, bets included. Rory's brain went on
auto-pilot. He couldn't say afterwards how long he walked carrying
the stranger or how far he got before he heard happy shouts.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'There he is'</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'We've found him.'</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Stefan. Stefan.'</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Other men appeared and
Rory was relieved of his burden. He sank down on his heels, put his
hands on the ground to steady himself and cried.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Back in Reykjavik
hospital Rory was re-hydrated and his scratches tended by a pretty
nurse. The Icelandic rescue men who'd taken him and the stranger to
safety were there and Rory was making new friends.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'You were amazing to
carry Stephan all that way.'</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'It was so lucky you
were there.'</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'You saved his life.'<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Thank you guys, but I
was stupid to have gone out there. I'm glad Stephan is getting
better. Why was he there?'</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'He's a geologist like
some of us. The rest of us just love being out in the country.'</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Rory nodded. 'Me too.'
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Someone produced a
bottle of vodka and toasts were drunk to Stephan and to Rory.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Is there anything we
can do for you to say thanks for Stephan's life?' said the owner of
the vodka.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
' Nah, I'm just so glad you
came along when you did.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
' But you could tell me
how to find a place to live here. Oh and is it easy to get a job with
you guys?'</div>
Kritihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08001806886621335963noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18520055.post-77246640232699551942014-06-29T17:38:00.002+01:002014-06-29T18:03:58.707+01:00Bad Parent<a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/" rel="license">
</a>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
There is no book that teaches you how
to be a parent; it's something you can only really learn by doing.
Sure you can read books, watch videos and listen to other parents but
that's no substitute for the experience.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
You also can't get everything right
first time. You might be expecting to lose a lot of sleep for several
months and believe that you'll cope fine, but when you're sleep
deprived you can't think clearly about all the other stuff. Stuff
like how to have great bath-times with your baby or even precisely
how much formula a baby can drink at 3 a.m. It takes lots of practice
and mistakes before you can handle those early weeks.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Once you have your baby sleeping
through the night you think you've got it made. I remember taking
Sondra for a walk in the park one day and meeting an old friend.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Hi Lisbeth. How are you and how is
your little Angel doing?' Jean stuck her head under the stroller
canopy and made silly noises at the baby.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'We're doing fine thanks.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'She's kinda tiny isn't she?' said
Jean. 'I mean my sister's new baby must be about the same age as
yours and she's very bonny. In fact she's sitting up already.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I looked down at Sondra and wondered if
she was small for her age, I mean I'd never thought about it before.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Well I'm sure she'll catch up. You're
looking quite well, no bags under the eyes I see.' She laughed.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'No, we're out of the sleepless nights
now; it get's easier. '</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Yes that's what my sister says. I say
she should have got the hang of it by now, this is her 3rd baby after
all. I think I prefer to stay single.' Jean's laughter echoed as she
tottered off on her expensive new high heels. Jean's remarks struck
hard. You always feel guilty when you're a mother, somebody else
always seems to be doing a better job.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I did learn about nutrition and
attainment goals for small children. I learned about toilet training
and tantrums too. It was hard going and nobody ever seemed to notice
how difficult life was for me.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I felt isolated and inadequate, I got
depression and then I felt more guilty and more depressed until by
the time I had my 4th child I wondered if I'd been a fool to ever
become a mother.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
My husband, Dick, is a kind man and I'm
sure he loves me. He was there for me when I was at my lowest and
drinking a bottle of wine every day before lunch.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'You are the important one Lisbeth.
You're the one who matters to me. I want you to be happy and I work
hard so there's enough money to make you happy. You wanted to be a
parent more than I did, but I guess that's normal. I do like kids and
I'd like to play ball with my sons and dance with my daughters, but
not if all this is making you miserable. I hate it when you're so
sad.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'I love you too and I know you want
what's best for me. I love you and I want to make you proud of the
children we raise together so that someday when we're old we can
laugh with our grandchildren.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Maybe I was just a bit too young and
foolish and I thought I'd be the perfect mother. I thought it was
instantaneous. They gave you the baby and suddenly you were wise and
good and loving. Now I know it's not like that. I'm sorry.' I
snuggled my face into his chest and cried my heart out.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
That crisis seemed to sort out my head
and I got right back into my parenting job, which Dick had assured me
was way more important that his work as an aeronautical engineer.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
In the end I had 7 babies before I
raised one successfully all the way. The people at the clinic were
always sympathetic and so understanding, they said some of the best
parents had troubles early on.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
It never became routine. Every time I
had to take a baby back and have it re-cycled I cried. But every
time I came back with the new one it was easier to manage. I didn't
get so upset when I made a mistake and consequently I made fewer
mistakes each time. I guess I must have been a 'sensitive' mother
because other people seemed to accept their failed attempts with a
shrug and a laugh.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Now Dick and I are living in Seniors
Paradise which is a very fancy and secure resort. Our grown children,
Michael and Dawn pay all the bills and they too are getting married
and raising children of their own. At last we can all laugh at those
days when I thought of myself as a bad parent.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/" rel="license"><img alt="Creative Commons License" src="http://i.creativecommons.org/l/by-nc-nd/3.0/88x31.png" style="border-width: 0;" /></a><br />
This work is licenced under a <a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/" rel="license">Creative Commons Licence</a>.Kritihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08001806886621335963noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18520055.post-53304494853508455162014-06-07T09:59:00.001+01:002014-06-07T14:47:14.230+01:00The Eighth Voyage of Sinbad<a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/" rel="license"><img alt="Creative Commons License" src="http://i.creativecommons.org/l/by-nc-nd/3.0/88x31.png" style="border-width: 0;" /></a><br />
<br />
This work is licenced under a <a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/" rel="license">Creative Commons Licence</a>.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
His eyes almost lost in folds of skin, nose mushed across his face with it's network of red veins, hair that lived it's own life in sparse clumps over his skull. Sinbad scratched thick stubble on his chin as he stared into the bronze mirror. 'I'm so old I must be dead.'<br />
He pinched his cheek and it hurt so apparently he was still alive, but he felt no gratitude for this; sighing deeply he turned back towards his bed and was about to climb in when he heard his wife calling.<br />
<br />
'Come downstairs you lazy bag of bones. Now!' Did she have eyes that could see through walls? He dressed and went down while the insults grew in volume and coarseness.<br />
<br />
'I'm here my Princess.'Sinbad smiled. The beautiful maiden he'd loved so long turned her head and glared at him. Her eyes had lost none of their sharpness although her chin almost disappeared in jowls that in turn melted into her enormous bosom.<br />
<br />
'You stink. I swear you are rotting away in that bed.'<br />
<br />
'I need rest. My back hurts and my feet burn, my...'<br />
<br />
'No!' she interrupted. 'Don't start a list of excuses that I could recite better than you can. Get yourself out in the fresh air and walk to market. Go buy me a magic lantern that will bring me back the handsome pirate I married.'<br />
Sinbad hung his head. It was true his looks and energy were gone. She was fat, but still pretty and able to whisk him out of her way with the broom.<br />
'I will go for a walk my Love and I will fetch you peaches from the orchard.' <br />
Her gaze softened and she patted his cheek.<br />
<br />
As Sinbad walked down the hill he looked at the sea beyond the town. The water looked like silk and it was as blue as the finest turquoise. There wasn't a cloud in the sky and he could feel a Westerly breeze. He loved the sea, it was good to be outdoors. His back eased as he walked on past the orchard and down to the boatyard.<br />
<br />
She was a small, elderly Felucca. Her paintwork was rubbed and her sail had been re-patched many times, but she entranced Sinbad. He looked at her a long while causing the shipwright to wander over and ask if something was amiss.<br />
'Who does she belong to?' Sinbad asked.<br />
'A man who traded down the coast, but he died of fever last year so I suppose she belongs to me.'<br />
Sinbad patted his robe but he'd forgotten his purse.<br />
'I want her. Will you take these in exchange?' he asked as he pulled off his jewelled slippers.<br />
'The stones in those are valuable enough for a much bigger boat.......But I'll take them' said the shipwright. He helped Sinbad down into the boat.<br />
The warm planks felt good beneath his feet. Sinbad settled himself next to the tiller.<br />
'Give me a push......and thanks.'<br />
<br />
It was wonderful how skill and understanding came back. He held the sail's rope in his right hand and rested his left arm on the tiller. The wind on his left cheek, his feet away from the coils of rope. The Sun ahead lighting a path across the water. Sinbad was content again.<br />
<br />
'I'll sail along the coast because this boat knows the way and when I'm tired I'll beach her.'<br />
<br />
The day wore on and Sinbad felt stronger. He trailed his hand in the water to measure her speed and she went faster and then faster still, this was marvellous. Part of Sinbad's mind was surprised by how well he felt, he wasn't hungry or thirsty or too hot. He shook off his robe to better feel the sun on his skin. He looked down to scratch his belly and noticed his belly had shrunk; rubbing his hand across his head he felt long hair growing there. He stood up and no joints screamed in protest when he pulled hard on the sail. The boat responded and took him out to deeper waters.<br />
He'd turned away from the Sun but there was a fire above in the sky. <br />
Sinbad frowned 'What is this? It's no fireball or shooting star surely?' The fire grew closer and he could see it glimmer and sparkle. Light bounced off the fiery thing and hurt his eyes, he blinked and rubbed them. Now it swooped lower turning in the air and he could see it from the side. It had the shape of a bird. Sinbad hoped it wasn't a Roc. 'Allah let it be an Eagle.' <br />
The bird moved closer and suddenly was on the boat. It alighted on the upper edge of the lateen sail and sat there flapping it's wings to keep it's balance. It's wingspan was half the size of his sail and each feather was aflame. Different colours played over the wings, crimson and scarlet reds, silver, gold and emerald flickered and danced. It had talons of bronze and it's eyes seemed to be molten copper.<br />
Sinbad sank onto the deck and stared speechless at this terrible beauty.<br />
<br />
'You are Sinbad the sailor?' The bird enquired. He nodded.<br />
'I am the Phoenix.' The bird paused. 'You look confused. Perhaps you have not heard of me, this name was given me by the Greeks. Others have different names, but it's always me they mean.<br />
'I have come to give you the chance to choose your fate. You are famed far and wide for your bravery and recklessness on the oceans, yet you left the sea years ago and live a comfortable life on land. Are you content to pass your final days in warm sunshine and talk with other old men of your glorious past? Or do you crave one last adventure; a journey through wonders you never dreamt of to a destination known only by those who went before you?'<br />
<br />
Sinbad found his voice.'I went ashore for love of a chaste and delightful maiden, but I've found the Sea has a hold on me far stronger than any woman and she will not mind if I travel on; I think she's always known I would. I choose adventure Phoenix.'<br />
'You will not return, but your loved ones will meet you in another place. If you are sure you wish to go take hold of my tail feathers and don't be afraid.'<br />
'Take me with you Phoenix.' Sinbad reached for the bird's tail and felt the strong muscles of his forearm flex as he seized hold. There was a moment of fierce pain then his heart burst open spilling immortal light. The Phoenix rose up into the darkening sky carrying Sinbad into a night clothed in stars.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Kritihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08001806886621335963noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18520055.post-30662037590179689972014-05-03T11:06:00.003+01:002014-05-03T11:06:35.153+01:001000 words on the theme 'We're all human, even when we're not.'<a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/" rel="license"><img alt="Creative Commons License" src="http://i.creativecommons.org/l/by-nc-nd/3.0/88x31.png" style="border-width: 0;" /></a><br />
This work is licenced under a <a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/" rel="license">Creative Commons Licence</a>.<br />
<br />
<u>EVERLASTING </u><br />
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">She
hadn't known it was possible to cry so much but crying now occupied
her waking hours. She didn't eat, she scarcely drank.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">'I'm
not hungry' she said 'but I'm cold' so she wore a big sweater
although it was high Summer. She performed only those actions that
were absolutely essential. Everything was dominated by her need to
cry. It isolated her from her friends but that didn't matter, she had
to cry it all out of her. When she went to bed she passed out, there
were no dreams, there was no moving around in the night to find a
more comfortable position. When she woke up she started to cry again.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">One
morning she woke before anyone else, even before the dog. It was
thick dark but she got up and dressed. She left the house and began
walking. She didn't know the area because she was staying with
friends so took the path in front of her. It led through a field
then when the path reached a road it continued on the other side so
she kept following it. She had no idea where she was but she walked
on because it seemed important to do so.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Then
she realised she wasn't alone, he'd joined her, he was chatting and
laughing with her. He remembered an incident from years before that
had amused him and frightened her. He was sorry now for teasing her.
They walked on and the birds began to sing. The path ahead became
clearer and there was the sea. The path opened out and that was when
he left telling her 'Don't worry, everything is going to be all
right.' She watched the sun rise out of the sea and felt warm now for
the first time in days; no longer cold inside or out, something had
thawed.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Her
friends noticed the change when she returned. When she told them he'd
come to see her they weren't surprised and neither was she. She
smiled, everything would be okay now. She kept smiling to herself
over the next few days. There were things to do and as she did them
she smiled; people noticed but forgave her odd behaviour, she was
obviously not coping well they said.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">When
the big day arrived she was completely in control. She greeted
everyone and thanked them for coming. She'd asked for flowers and
music, she would have asked for dancing but there was no room to
dance. The day was hot and she wore a Summer dress. She could feel
everything now: the heat and her perfume, the voices in all their
variety, the faces, some well-known to her and some almost strangers.
She welcomed all of it. He'd enjoy this.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Then
he arrived. He was wearing his best black silk shirt and he looked so
handsome that her control slipped for a moment. She loved him so much
and he loved her still, she knew that with unshakeable certainty. </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">When
the service was over she leaned over him and kissed him. She felt
love surrounding her and moving through her. His love was more real
and vivid than ever before, she smiled as they closed the lid of his
coffin. </span>
</div>
Kritihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08001806886621335963noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18520055.post-14642164527739735282014-04-28T10:06:00.001+01:002014-04-28T14:17:47.407+01:00Three Wishes (1500 word writing exercise from Chuck Wendig)<a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/" rel="license"><img alt="Creative Commons License" src="http://i.creativecommons.org/l/by-nc-nd/3.0/88x31.png" style="border-width: 0;" /></a><br />
This work is licenced under a <a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/" rel="license">Creative Commons Licence</a>.<br />
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Clive entered the building, his
professional face firmly locked in position. As usual he was greeted</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
variously, with deference,enthusiasm or
anxiety. He could see the interns like playful puppies, willing</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
to do anything the Master required
while senior staff lowered their eyes and backed away or</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
switched on wary smiles. His gaze
swept past his employees as he saw a wealthy client</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
approaching.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Jacqueline, Dearest. You look
fantastic. You grow lovelier every time I see you.' He brushed
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
her cheek with his lips.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Where were you last night, did you
stand me up?' she hissed in his ear.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'I'm sorry we missed you yesterday,
Wendy had a cold. May I call you to discuss another meeting?'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
She looked him in the eye. 'If you're
not too busy please do.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Was there a glitter in those eyes?
Clive wondered if Jackie was getting possessive.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
He walked into his suite hushing his
secretary as she handed him a sheaf of papers.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'No calls, no coffee.' He said closing
his office door before she could respond.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
He sank into his armchair and gazed at
the Thames.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'I'm getting stale. I'm entirely
dis-enchanted with architecture. I need a change.' He sighed and</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
watched the boats chugging up and down
river. 'They know where they're going, lucky bastards.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
What's left for me? I've done it all
already.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'So, money don't buy you happiness?'
squeaked a voice from the curtain rail.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'No, It's just another load of manure
....' Clive looked around, at a loss to locate the person
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
speaking. 'Have I got talking mice now
or am I finally losing my mind?'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'I'm not a mouse Stupid. I'm a fairy'
came in answer and now Clive saw movement overhead.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Something winged and brown fluttered above him.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'A fairy?'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Don't freak out. It's a weird world, I
should know.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Clive stared 'You don't look like a
fairy, aren't you supposed to be pretty and colourful?'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Listen Chum, forget fantasy. I am a
fairy, there's a reason for the colouration. I'm incognito.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'You're likely to be swatted with a
copy of 'The Telegraph'....you look like a horsefly. What are</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
you doing here ?'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Your name has reached the top of The
List.' The fairy made an excited face.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Do you mean a Wish list, the magical
kind?'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Uhuh. Your turn, 3 wishes. Don't ask
why, I don't make the list. I'm only doing my job.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Really? said Clive ' I remember this
from childhood. I get 3 wishes and you have to fulfil them?'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Mmmmm.....Yes.'
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'I need a minute. Bear with me.' Clive
grabbed a pen and started writing on his scratch pad. He</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
was busy for several minutes. When he
looked around again the fairy was lounging against his</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Ormolu inkstand. 'What you got this
for? You use a Biro.' said the fairy.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'It's part of the image, I hate it.'
The fairy shrugged it's shoulders.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'I've chosen my first wish. Let's
start.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The fairy pointed at the desk top where
a sheet of closely typed paper now lay. 'Read and sign.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Indemnity papers.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
It took ten minutes for Clive to check
over. 'It looks okay but I should have my lawyers look at it.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Sorry, no third parties. Sign or I go,
I've got loads of Wishees waiting.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Clive grimaced but signed, his hand
shaking from sudden excitement.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Tell me your wish.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'I want to be outdoors I'm sick of
offices. Give me sun, sand, and space.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The fairy said 'Close your eyes. No
peaking.' then he tapped Clive on the head.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
'Now open'.<br />
Clive was definitely outdoors; there were hills, mountains and a
river running past his feet. There<br />
was also hot sunshine and sand..... between rocks, lots of rocks.
Looking down slope Clive noticed a<br />
scruffily dressed man with a cowboy hat, he was hunched over a
garden sieve.<br />
'Good Morning.' said Clive.<br />
The man started and staggered to his feet. He was holding a rifle,
the barrel pointed at Clive.<br />
'Where you from Stranger?'<br />
'London. Where is this?'<br />
'California. How'd you get here?'
<br />
'I don't know to be honest. What are you doing?'<br />
The rifle rose to firing position. 'Fixin' ter shoot.' said the
man.<br />
'I mean you no harm'. Clive was afraid, this felt too real.<br />
'Well you ain't armed, so mebbe that's true. I'm doing a little
panning. Rush is over now, not much
<br />
gold, but enough fer coffee and rifle shells. I was a preacher
man, retired three years ago.'<br />
'Have you been here ever since?'<br />
'Pretty much. It's peaceful.'<br />
'You don't get lonely?'<br />
'God talks to me, so nope I don't get lonely.'<br />
'It must be a hard life . Where do you stay?'<br />
'I got a little place, it's hid away. I ain't showin' you where.'
The man unlocked the safety catch.<br />
'No, quite, that's sensible, I'm just curious. Do you see many
people?'<br />
'See Indians down at the trading post; good folks, we chat about
the Great Spirit sometimes.' He<br />
grinned. 'I like it alone, you know.' He waved the rifle towards
the hills.<br />
'Yes. Yes, I see. One more question if that's okay.' There was a
nod.<br />
Clive swallowed 'What year is this?'<br />
'1857 why?'<br />
'No reason. Thanks. I must be off. Goodbye.' Clive turned
.........<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
And there was his office and the fairy.<br />
'You didn't say you'd send me back in time.'<br />
'Didn't ask.' The fairy rubbed his toe along the desk top,
smudging the polish.<br />
'Well I need to think about the next wish. I didn't like that
place.'<br />
Clive scribbled on paper again..........................<br />
' OK..... I'd like to go back to the Middle Ages, to Sherwood
Forest. I loved<br />
Robin Hood movies. I want to be a Merry Man.'<br />
Clive closed his eyes, felt the tap on his head and then he was in
woodland. Massive trees
<br />
surrounded a pretty glade. It looked like Spring. The trees had
buds and soft green leaves. There<br />
were flowers at his feet and mushrooms.
<br />
'Aaaaaah' he breathed deep ......'Beautiful England, this is more
like it.'
<br />
Seconds later he sneezed, then again louder, his eyes watered. He
pulled out a handkerchief <br />
and felt for his nose drops, they weren't there.<br />
Determined he set out; sneezing at frequent intervals. He'd barely
crossed the glade when an<br />
arrow thunked into the nearest tree.<br />
......Outlaws ..... Clive looked around but could see no-one.<br />
.....It's that Lincoln green camouflage..... He shouted. 'Hello
please come out. I come in peace.'
<br />
'Helloooo'.<br />
Suddenly he was on his face in a muddy patch and
something was sitting on him.<br />
A pair of dirty boots appeared before Clive's eyes.<br />
'What manner of creature art thou? You come unarmed into our
forest. Are you a fool? ...Off Tyrell.'<br />
The pressure lifted from Clive's back, he saw a short man with a
large bow.<br />
'Are you Robin Hood?' The face was grimy and didn't resemble
Costner or Flynn.<br />
'I am Robin of Locksley, who wants to know?<br />
'I'm Clive of London, pleased to meet you.' and he was.<br />
'Have you word from King Richard?'<br />
'Well last I read, he was in some castle in Germany, he'll get
back eventually. I think.'<br />
'The King dallies too long. We needs must fight Nottingham without
him. Join us, we'll find you a<br />
bow.' They moved off accompanied by the dog carrying a brace of
rabbits in it's sharp teeth.<br />
Clive trudged along, his nose running now, hay-fever in full flow.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
The Merry Men looked decidedly downcast.
<br />
'They have Ague .' said Robin.<br />
'We're soaked through is why. Bloody weather, Bloody trees.'
snarled a huge man with no teeth. He<br />
leaned on a stick. 'My back's killing me.'<br />
'Little John?' said Clive.<br />
'You bein' funny?' said John.<br />
'Er No, not much. What's cooking?' He pointed at a pot over a
smoky fire.<br />
'Rabbit stew. Every day rabbit stew. Sometimes there's no stew,
sometimes no rabbit.' said a skinny,<br />
tonsured figure.<br />
'Are you Friar Tuck?' Clive was shocked; this was no jolly fat
cleric. 'You're not what I expected.<br />
Where's Marian?'
<br />
'Never say that strumpet's name. Have you had her too?' Robin came
close holding a big knife and<br />
grabbed Clive by his shirt. Clive panicked and closed his eyes.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
He peeked.................................................... and the fairy was laying on his blotting pad, whistling.
Clive shouted angrily.<br />
'I was almost killed ! Two wishes and both absolute rubbish.
You're a poor excuse for a fairy.'
<br />
The fairy burst into tears.<br />
'Can't help it....sniff. Didn't want this job. They'll laugh.'<br />
'Who will laugh?'<br />
'Other Elves. I'm not fairy, fairies borin'.... sniff, but they
were short-handed.'
<br />
'You Fraud. I should report you to some authority, you have
authorities don't you?'<br />
'Yes, but please, forgive me, it's my first day, I'll get in big
trouble else.'<br />
The Elf sobbed.<br />
Clive knew he was being soft, but the Elf's tears unnerved him.<br />
'All right. Calm down. I won't tell anyone.<br />
The Elf grinned.<br />
'Ta ever so. I'll do you a favour. I'll give you contentment for
your last wish. You didn't ask for that
<br />
but I reckon it's what you need. Close eyes!'<br />
Clive obeyed. When he opened them again his office was empty, but
for a soft,warm glow. He felt<br />
weepy, he loved everything now, even the Ormolu inkstand.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
------------------<br />
Just over the 1500 allowance. In case it wasn't apparent:<br />
Clive was number 10 on the list, the Fairy was number 49.The
Californian was number 14, Robin Hood number 6 and Clive became
number 22 at the end.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Kritihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08001806886621335963noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18520055.post-53720028892097397912014-04-23T08:08:00.000+01:002014-04-23T09:23:54.530+01:00Opening Line from Allison Forsythe, she's not to blame for the rest.<a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/" rel="license"><img alt="Creative Commons License" src="http://i.creativecommons.org/l/by-nc-nd/3.0/88x31.png" style="border-width: 0;" /></a><br />
This work is licenced under a <a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/" rel="license">Creative Commons Licence</a>.
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Today I fed some ducks at your funeral.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
It was a cold day, they looked hungry.
You might have appreciated my gesture. You used to think well of me.
I don't like ducks much, but needed to get rid of the cake somehow.
The ducks definitely liked it. The cake was chocolate, your
favourite. I dislike chocolate. You could have bought Lemon cake, I
like that, but you didn't.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
You came to my flat carrying the box
from the confectioner's. It's traditional to bring something nice to
eat when you want to share good news, that's what you said.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
You'd applied for and got a new job, it
hadn't come up in conversation before so I was surprised.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'It's what I've always longed for. A
job with such a prestigious company. I'll have my own assistants and
I'll be in charge of an entire department.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I got up to make coffee. I enjoy
drinking coffee and it calms my nerves.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'I had the second interview week before
last, they were very positive and I was pretty sure the job was mine.
I had to wait the whole week but the letter came yesterday.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I hunted for the Kenyan beans to make
your coffee; I prefer Peruvian but this was your special day.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'You know I really didn't think they
were impressed by me at the first interview. I was very nervous and I
think I chose the wrong blouse, I wore that blue one that you said
went so well with my eyes, anyway the top button came undone and I
didn't even notice until later. I was sure that Kevin had noticed. I
was so embarrassed and I thought he'd write me off as cheap, but he
said later how he liked a feminine touch around the place.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Later?'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Uhuh. I was so flushed after the
interview that the Personnel department secretary thought I looked
ill. She gave me some water and I sat in the outer office. Then Mr
Malone, Kevin that is, came out. He saw me and he was so kind. He
took me out to lunch he said</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
"Because I expect you haven't eaten today
due to butterflies." Wasn't that observant of him?'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I debated over scalding the milk or
using cream from the fridge for your coffee, I opted for the milk.
Did I want you to burn your mouth? I don't know.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Are you listening to me Paul, you
haven't said a word ?'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I'm fairly sure I'd said something, but
you probably didn't hear me.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'You are exasperating, you know that;
it's one reason I applied for this job. I think we need a break.You
don't really appreciate me Paul; I only realised because Kevin is so
considerate and it's such a contrast.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'This cake is delicious, it's Black
Forest Gateau you know. I thought you liked cherries. Hurry up with
that coffee or I'll eat your share too.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Digging in the cupboard I found the
Demerara lumps and put them in a bowl on the tray with the cups and
the coffee pot. I brought it over to the lounge and set the tray on
the table. You'd started picking at the cake already and your fingers
were sticky so you were licking them. I fetched plates and the bread
knife; I don't have a cake slice.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Cut some for yourself Paul, you'll
make me feel greedy otherwise.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
You smiled as I handed you a plate with
a large piece on it. I went back to the kitchen for the hot milk. As
I sat down across from you you said.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'So I'm moving to London next week.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I spilled coffee down my trousers.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Don't look like that. You weren't
listening were you? I have this new job with more money and more
responsibility. It's good for me.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
You pushed cake into your mouth and
smiled at the same time.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'It'll be good for us.' you said,
spraying crumbs.'We need space to decide if our romance is still
working.'
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I poured the milk. You had more cake in
your mouth and you were looking at me like I was a small boy. I
handed you the cup and saucer and you took a gulp of coffee.<br />
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Gaachh ! Too hot s' burning my mouth.'<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I hurried into the kitchen and came
back with a glass of iced water. You grabbed it and drank and then
you coughed and flapped your free hand about.<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'You did that on purpose! You're
horrible, you really are. I don't know if I love you at all
anymore.'<br />
<br />
Tears appeared in your eyes, but whether you were sad or
trying not to cough I don't know. I went to fetch tissues from the
bathroom as you bit into another piece of cake.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
When I came back you were sat on the
couch staring pop-eyed at the kitchen and you were making funny
gasping noises. I could see you were choking on something so I handed
you the glass of water. You raised it to your mouth and still
retching and spluttering you drank some. Then your face turned blue
and you dropped the glass and the plate of cake. You started pawing
at your throat and you looked at me. I think you were looking
longingly, but perhaps not. There were a few judders and gasps and
then you were quiet.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The Coroner's verdict was 'Accidental
Death'. Apparently there'd been a cherry stone in the cake and that
had jammed in your windpipe. It took me days to clean up the coffee
stains. This morning I saw cake crumbs in the dustpan, that's when I
thought of the ducks and how happy they would be.</div>
<br />
<br />Kritihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08001806886621335963noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18520055.post-33039564644118322462014-04-03T14:19:00.003+01:002014-04-03T14:19:45.908+01:00<a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/" rel="license"><img alt="Creative Commons License" src="http://i.creativecommons.org/l/by-nc-nd/3.0/88x31.png" style="border-width: 0;" /></a><br />
This work is licenced under a <a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/" rel="license">Creative Commons Licence</a>.
<b>Another tale from the Han</b><br />
<br />
<br />
The fire had settled down for the night and glowed comfortably. The camel drivers relaxed. It had been a long day, covering rough terrain, but in this friendly caravanserai dusty journeys could be forgotten with a full belly.<br />
<br />
When the coffee had been poured all eyes looked expectantly at Hamid. He was the resident storyteller and his latest visitors wanted a new story.<br />
<br />
'We've heard all the ones about princesses and flying carpets. Give us something different.'<br />
<br />
'Tell us one about a dog'.<br />
<br />
'No I want one about magic.'<br />
<br />
'Give us a story about travellers.'<br />
<br />
Hamid smiled at his audience and began his story.<br />
<br />
'I heard of a Christian hermit who once lived high in the Urals.<br />
He was a reluctant hermit and unhappy. He'd been cast out of his monastery. At chapter meeting the Almoner said nobody could tolerate the snoring that woke everyone every single night, then the Abbot said Brother Pyotr's farting made the chapel stink to high Heaven and choked them all. On top of that it was universally agreed that Brother Pyotr was grouchy, which is not ideal in a holy monk.<br />
<br />
So they had put him in a hut in the mountains, called it a hermitage and waved goodbye. He was visited once a month with food, when the monks remembered. <br />
Time passed and Pyotr grew lonely and even more ill-natured.<br />
In the same region lived a Djinn by the will of Allah. This Djinn was also lonely; although he could fly all over the world very fast whenever he wished he found that most people were scared of him. They never stayed around long enough to find out his good qualities.<br />
But this Djinn had another small problem; he'd found a casket on his travels. It had fallen from the camel-bag of a wise man and the Djinn could not unlock it despite all his magic. So he'd tucked it under his arm and carried it everywhere.<br />
Well, the Djinn chanced upon the hermit when both were wandering in the foothills because Allah willed it so.<br />
<br />
'Hello Djinn' said Pyotr.<br />
<br />
'Uh Hullo' said the Djinn, who'd thought himself invisible. He was not a very clever Djinn, he didn't realise that holy men could see all magical beings.<br />
<br />
'What have you got there?' asked Pyotr.<br />
<br />
'A casket. A strange casket 'cause it won't undo; there's no key.' the Djinn looked downcast.<br />
<br />
'I can undo that.' said Pyotr<br />
<br />
'You can? Do it then. Please' said the Djinn thrusting the casket forward. He was always polite and kindly.<br />
<br />
'You need to do me a favour in return.' said Pyotr folding his arms.<br />
<br />
There was a pause.<br />
<br />
'I do ? Oh Yes I do, don't I?' The Djinn was rather forgetful.<br />
<br />
'What do you desire? One wish only.'<br />
<br />
'I don't want to be lonely any more.'<br />
<br />
'As you wish. Just a minute'....... The Djinn gave an eloquent little twirl. 'Shazam!!!!'<br />
<br />
The hermit looked around and the hills were as empty as before.<br />
<br />
'You are a poor excuse for a Djinn. All that messing about and nothing's changed. Why are we still here and not in some great city?'<br />
<br />
'It has changed. It really has, you'll see. Please open the casket now.'<br />
<br />
Pyotr picked up a rock and smashed the lock clean off the casket.<br />
<br />
'You broke my casket' wailed the Djinn.<br />
<br />
'But it's open, isn't it? Now give me my wish.'<br />
<br />
'I have. I'm your wish . I am your friend. You aren't lonely now.'<br />
<br />
'I don't want you for a friend.'<br />
<br />
'Why not?'<br />
<br />
'Because you're a Djinn and stupid too.'<br />
<br />
'You are not very nice. Hermits are supposed to be kind to strangers.'<br />
<br />
'But not necessarily to friends.' Pyotr grinned nastily.<br />
<br />
The Djinn looked inside his casket, it held a beautiful orange topaz. The Djinn smiled. He loved pretty things. He looked back at Pyotr and sighed.<br />
<br />
' Kay. What do you want instead of a friend?'<br />
<br />
'I want to be a dog.<br />
'Not any old wild dog , I want to be a beautiful educated hound that can run like the wind, then the great King in Novgorod will want me in his palace. He will take me hunting and feed me delicacies. A Borzoi would be suitable. You can take me to him when you leave here.'<br />
<br />
Now the Djinn had never seen a Borzoi so he furrowed his brow and thought; it took a while, then he remembered seeing an attractive dog once. Maybe that was the hound Pyotr meant.<br />
<br />
'Hmmm. Abracadabra..Shazam!!!!!'<br />
<br />
Pyotr was gone, in his place was a pug.The pug looked extremely cross.<br />
<br />
'Ooops?' said the Djinn.<br />
<br />
'But you're so cute!' said the Djinn and scooped the pug up into his arms.<br />
<br />
'You are the mostest beautifullest hound in the wide world.'<br />
<br />
The pug screwed it's face up and stuck out a little pink tongue.<br />
<br />
'Oh you're adorable. I can't let you go to some tyrant king. You won't be happy there. Stay with me. We'll be bestest friends forever. Oh, I forgot, we are friends already aren't we?'<br />
<br />
The Djinn flew off with the pug, the broken casket and the topaz inside it. He had the topaz set in a collar for the dog and made the casket into a basket and they settled down in an oasis because the Djinn didn't need to fly anywhere now.<br />
The pug squirmed, grumbled and farted all day and snored when he slept but the Djinn didn't mind. He had a friend.<br />
<br />
And the moral of the story is two-fold. Remember Djinns can be nice and remember to be precise if you are granted a wish'.<br />
<br />
The camel-drivers applauded and gave Hamid a generous handful of coins before they all fell asleep.
Kritihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08001806886621335963noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18520055.post-5214296582928930072014-01-28T09:44:00.000+00:002014-01-28T09:44:08.048+00:00Thoughts on latest novel effort<a rel="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/"><img alt="Creative Commons License" style="border-width:0" src="http://i.creativecommons.org/l/by-nc-nd/3.0/88x31.png" /></a><br />This work is licenced under a <a rel="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/">Creative Commons Licence</a>.
Sounds defeatist to talk about an 'effort' but I still feel silly talking as if I were a writer. Anyway my current thoughts about Farid.......
My hero is an exile. His family of Moorish Spaniards have sent him away, mainly for his safety but he has only been persuaded to leave by telling him that he can find them somewhere safe to live.
He's young and has to learn a lot quickly just to survive. He's on a ship when we first meet him, headed for ?(not sure where to be sending him yet).
He's been brought up to be proud of his heritage, so it's hard for him to feel worthless and even despised by the larger world. He tries to keep his feelings under wraps because he sees them as weakness that will harm him and anyway he has no friends and soon learns that trust is not a useful characteristic to have.
His experiences in the first year or two after leaving home are brutalising. It's hard to keep his own values and he's involved in situations that will inevitably degrade him, but he has inner strength that will surface.
All he wants is to go home, but this isn't an option. He searches instead for somewhere that will be a new home for his family. He has a vision of rescuing them and bringing them to a place full of happiness.
Obviously he's naive at first and when that is rubbed away by Life he becomes a man who affects not to believe in anyone or anything. He becomes strong physically and tough mentally, but inside there's still hope for love and friendship.Kritihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08001806886621335963noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18520055.post-66081340072188539482013-12-11T15:30:00.001+00:002013-12-11T15:30:36.024+00:00Coming Soon<a rel="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/"><img alt="Creative Commons License" style="border-width:0" src="http://i.creativecommons.org/l/by-nc-nd/3.0/88x31.png" /></a><br />This work is licenced under a <a rel="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/">Creative Commons Licence</a>.
There will be stuff to read here in the NEW YEAR !!!!Kritihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08001806886621335963noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18520055.post-14680327286040319782009-10-21T11:14:00.002+01:002009-10-21T11:17:45.407+01:00Rough draft of Chapter 1<a rel="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/"><img alt="Creative Commons License" style="border-width:0" src="http://i.creativecommons.org/l/by-nc-nd/3.0/88x31.png" /></a><br />This work is licenced under a <a rel="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/">Creative Commons Licence</a>.<br /><br />OKAY.<br />Here's the first draft of chapter 1 for 'Emma' (really have to think of a proper title soon).<br /><br />Comments always welcome.<br /><br /><br />Thinking back I should have beaten her, that’s where I went wrong with Emma.<br />Emma was enchanting, that’s why I stole her from Mephistopheles. I confess that my acquisition of her services was not based solely on prospects of financial gain. She had unearthly looks rather than beauty but it was hard to take your eyes off her. She looked ethereal but her character was that of a scheming minx. I found that combination of fragility and deviance irresistible and fell in love with her.<br />Having told you that my emotions were involved you may understand why my later judgement in regard to Emma Butcher was flawed.<br /><br />I saw her for the first time on stage at the Alhambra. She made a brief appearance each night as a Fairy captured by that incompetent illusionist Mephistopheles, such an arrogant stage name. He would lure her across the stage place her in a box and make a vast bother with chains and padlocks, even throwing the keys away. then he would perform some other small illusion with flowers before her cries from captivity softened his heart and he ‘magically’ freed her.<br />It was a tedious act with a poor climax and the public’s applause was directed at the pretty assistant rather than the Conjurer.<br /><br />I sat through this performance on three consecutive nights before I confirmed my first impression; that he had no right to the girl and that I owed it to her to rescue her and make her a central part of my own much superior act.<br /><br />I’d learnt that she was not his daughter as I’d thought; back stage gossip said that he’d fetched her home with him one night to the great annoyance of his wife. Apparently Emma had attempted to pick his pocket and instead of beating her he chose to make her his new assistant. He told Flossie his wife that the girl was very agile, she’d wriggled like a worm on a hook when he caught hold of her. He never mentioned that she was eager to do whatever he asked.<br /><br />Emma’s supple body was obvious but her sensuality was not. Most people were held by Emma’s large eyes and silvery hair and failed to see that her waif like appearance was assumed.<br />Flossie had reluctantly agreed that the girl could squirm into the small compartments used in Mephistopheles stage paraphernalia where Flossie no longer could because of pregnancy and so Emma had been a part of the act for several weeks.<br />I went to visit Flossie. We’d had an interesting conversation that had run along these lines;<br />‘ I wanted to visit you Madam to offer my praise for your husband’s act. He is a master of illusion. I have seen him often in years past and always admired his skill, together with your graceful assistance. You have both been an inspiration but I am concerned. May I ask is he quite well?’<br />Flossie looked puzzled and I went on.<br />‘It’s only that I feel his assistant may be failing him; she does prance about a lot more than she ought and her shrieks from the box are really quite irritating. He almost dropped the magic curtain too soon last night. I was right side in the wings and she was still clambering up on the box. She is clumsy too.....’<br />The lady was looking discomfited now.<br />‘ Please don’t think Madam that this is a criticism of your husband I only fear that he may be too close to the girl to see her faults. Perhaps his attention has been diverted by worry or maybe he is sickening for something?’<br />‘Yes Sir you may well be right in your estimation of my husband’s mind.Thank you for your kind words. I shall speak with him.’<br /><br />I made my goodbyes and left feeling quite smug. The very next day Emma was thrown out and was dodging her way down the street pursued by a furious Flossie. I stepped out from an alley and pulled Emma back into a doorway.<br /><br />‘Hush keep still. If the old girl catches you she’ll knock you senseless.’<br /><br />Emma struggled in my arms, but I had the measure of her.<br /><br />‘ Well what has gone wrong? You’re back on the streets my girl and that’s not the place for you.’<br /><br />She tossed her head and pulled back from me ‘ And you’d be knowing where I should be do you? If you want a personal whore you’ve got the wrong girl here.’<br /><br />‘Emma, dear girl. I am offering you a good position. You will be on a stage alone with all eyes on you.’<br /><br />‘ On stage, you have an act? You think that’s where I ought to be ?’ She’d relaxed a little.<br /><br />‘I have and I do and so do you. Come with me and I’ll explain over some pie and mash.’<br /><br />That did the trick, Emma admitted to being ravenous. Flossie had half starved her while she’d lived with them. <br /><br /><br />----------<br />----------<br /><br />I moved Emma into a room in my lodging house. She possessed only what she stood in so I dug into my purse and got her a new dress. Never before or since have I seen someone enraptured by a dress. Emma buried her face in the little velvet collar and continually stroked the skirt murmuring about it’s colour, it was blue, saying how it made her think of Heaven. She was so pleased. It made me feel I’d done something praiseworthy and noble in getting it for her, even though it was second-hand.<br /><br />I’d explained my idea to her carefully. She was to become a mind-reader. She would stand blindfolded alone on a stage and tell members of the audience what was in their pocket or handbag. I would stroll among the audience and hold objects for her to ‘read’. We’d develop a code in which I could tell her what I had in my hand. We would make a mint of money.<br /><br />Emma was immediately enthusiastic and wanted to start work on the code straight away. We practiced for days until our opening. I had been so confident about obtaining Emma that I’d booked a slot in the next week’s variety show at the Hippodrome on that first day; I’d decided it would not be politic to start at the Alhambra.<br /><br />Emma didn’t disappoint me, she was marvellous.<br />Her hair was brushed till it shone, it cascaded over her shoulders and I’d cut it to a neat line that ended at breast height.<br />She wore the blue dress and stood hands folded, demure and sweet while I opened the spiel.<br /><br /> ‘ Tonight ladies and Gentlemen you are priviledged to witness evidence of the astounding bond between two souls. I have long been a student of the Occult For many years I’ve known that I had powers but I was alone. No one else understood or felt the spirits that stirred within me.................. My searching took me to Russia where I found this child in a convent. The Mother Superior told me of the girl’s ability to see with her mind’s eye what was happening in the world outside the convent walls. Mother said she believed the girl’s piety was so great that Our Lady had granted her a special talent. I spoke to her charge and immediately knew that this little nun was an advanced soul<br />The young nun’s name is Sophia Natalia Ouspenskaya and through my persuasion she has been allowed to leave the convent and travel Europe with me in order that we may show the miracle of our conjoined talent to all who seek proof of God’s power.’<br /><br />We had chosen the russian name because Emma had a strange speaking voice, sometimes she mispronounced words. I think she must have come from an immigrant family. This speech oddity was beneficial and Emma worked on her voice to give herself an accent that might have come from anywhere East of Dover. I’d also decided on the ‘nun’ bit which wasn’t usual in a stage artist, but I thought it gave Emma class and made me a virtuous scholar!<br /> <br />At this point in the act the spotlight moved to Emma who remained unmoving, silent but who opened her eyes. I’ve said already that her eyes were large; they were also of a brilliant blue that sparkled in the spotlight’s beam. I had instructed Emma to look towards the light rather than the crowd and not to blink until I told her to close her lids again.<br /><br />‘Sophia, whose name means Wisdom in the ancient language of the Greeks, is now moving into a trance state which I have induced so that we may give you a small demonstration of our powers.’ <br /><br />I then instructed Emma to close her eyes.<br /><br />A stage hand came out from the wings carrying a small box. Placing the box on a table near me he opened the box and wthdrew three items; an egg, a cup and a child’s shoe. <br /><br />‘Ladies and Gentlemen I must beg you to be silent for a few minutes. I shall hold each of these things up in turn and you must tell me. By show of hands only, no words at all, which object you wish Sophia to tell us about.’<br /><br />Having reminded them again of the need for absolute silence, I then produced each thing in turn to the audience and they raised their hands to vote.<br />Once something was chosen the other two objects went back in the box and I would then move ten feet away from Emma and turn to the audience again.<br /><br />‘I shall now use the power of my mind to convey an image of this object to Sophia’s mind and ask her what I am holding.’<br /><br />With a flourish I would raise both hands above my head and look up to the ceiling.<br /><br />Emma, on the first night, said softly.<br /><br />‘ You hold in your hand something that tells us about our Saviour’s sacrifice.’ There were murmurs from the crowd.<br />She then moved her head slowly from side to side. The audience hung on her in silence.<br />‘You hold a cup which serves to remind us of that cup which Our Lord passed among his Disciples at the Last Supper asking them to Drink from it in remembrance of him. Hallelujah.’<br /><br />I was indeed holding the cup. Emma knew this because I counted the steps away from her aloud and ten meant the cup.<br /><br />The audience were pleased but not completely won over. I walked back to Emma <br />smiled and said ‘Sophia. Your powers are strong tonight, can we do greater wonders?’<br />Slowly she nodded. I produced a blindfold mask and tied it around her head.<br />Then I waved my hands closely in front of her, but Emma didn’t flinch.<br /><br />‘Ladies and Gentlemen. May I crave your assistance? I will walk among you and you shall see these gifts more widely displayed.’<br /><br />There were murmurs in the crowd as I climbed down from the stage and walked the aisles until I saw the smiling face of a young lady with an equally happy man sat beside her.<br />‘Madam’. she nodded ‘and Sir’.<br />‘Would you retrieve something from your person and lend it to me for a moment.....<br />Please don’t say anything,but pass the item to me.’<br />The eager lady scrabbled in her handbag for a moment and produced an ornate mirror.<br />I thanked her and held the mirror up for the audience to see. <br /><br />‘Sophia, can you hear me speaking ?’ again the nod.’Can you see what I have in my hand?’ She shook her head.<br /><br />‘Tell us what I have here please.’<br /><br />Emma raised her hands in a supplicant gesture and spoke.<br /><br />‘You hold something that shows the Lady her image; but she may see her real self in the eyes of others. You hold a mirror.’ There were gratifying gasps from the Lady and many others in the audience.<br /><br />We then repeated this performance with several other persons and different objects until Emma suddenly dropped her head forward and swayed a little.<br /><br />‘We have exhausted her. She must stop now. Thank you.’<br />I returned to the stage and removed Emma’s blindfold. Then putting my arm about her shoulders I helped her forward. She curtsied and I bowed.<br /><br />Then Emma made a gesture that I’d not taught her. She blew a kiss to the audience and smiled. They applauded vigorously and we left the stage.<br /><br /><br /> We performed that act with variations on the theme for several months. The theatre had full houses every night and as the Manager admitted, much of that was due to my appearances, so we were paid more money.<br /><br />Success was an aphrodisiac and Emma and I became lovers. <br />I’d arrived at her door dressed to go out and eat breakfast but Emma was washing her hair. While I waited for her I helped her dry her hair while we chose new key words for pocket watches and hankies , far the commonest things produced by audience members.<br />I was behind her rubbing the back of her neck when she reached up her hand to take the towel from me.<br />I looked down ,her face was so appealing in the morning sun and I leant forward and kissed her hand.<br />‘Ernest. You Silly.’ she laughed and I knew that I had to have her and to Hell with the consequences.<br />We never had breakfast that day, but I found I’d been starved for something more than food. <br />Until I took Emma to bed I’d never been interested in a woman after the first few times, but this was different. The more I had Emma the more I needed to have her again.<br />She was excited by my desire. She would laugh as we caressed and her passion would increase as mine did. We would tear the clothes from each other. We made love at any time and in any place that was available.<br /><br />I found it difficult to maintain the fiction that I was her Guardian and she the little nun. Emma however, was the complete actress. She could break free of my arms , tidy her hair, wash her face and become composed and serious in a trice.<br />Not only was lust making me hollow-eyed; avarice was eating at my innards.<br />We were making a good wage, but only a wage.<br />I’d calculated what we were worth to the Hippodrome and knew that I’d not be content until all that money went into my pocket. Scheming to achieve this kept me awake at night.<br /><br />It was at this time that I heard about mediums like Maslyn, who were gaining some notoriety. I began to think that we mightchange direction in our employment. <br />I couldn’t see where great money could be made in talking to dead people and instead tried to see performances by magicians and escape artists. I had an idea of using Emma as an escapologist. This proved to be an entertaining notion. There was a lot of excitement to be had from tying Emma up and then watching her struggle when I’d tied the wrong knots. Naturally I apologised each time for my mistakes.<br />Unfortunately it became sensible to give up these games after Emma bit me. <br />Eventually I decided to bring in a little illusion to enhance the act and to focus attention more directly on myself, Emma was getting a disproportionate share of the stage door attention....<br />We opened with a section where I performed a few levitations with small items like vases and small tables and then we closed the act with a levitation of Emma just to show that I was the stronger mind.<br /><br />After the evening show I sometimes treated Emma to supper in a swankier part of town. She loved this. It gave her an opportunity to dress up and paint her face. I think she also started to long for a better life. As we watched the Nobs chatting to each other I could see Emma’s face go soft and dreamy and knew that she imagined herself mixing with them. All I wanted was money, enough to quit this country and go to America. I saw myself as the owner of a fancy saloon out West; a high quality place with showgirls. A place where I need not work any more aside from counting the takings. I had no desire to join ‘society’. They seemed bored and useless like sheep grazing aimlessly.<br /><br />I took pride in my act. It was capable of capturing the attention of a crowd without need of elaborate stage machinery that was prone to go wrong at critical points. I had an able assistant in Emma who was quick to absorb the changes that I made in our patter. She worked well with me and was keen to put forward her ideas which were sometimes worth using. <br />I was a skilled man living by the exercise of my wits not a drone existing on inherited wealth. It was a great pleasure for me to take money from such people. After supper Emma and I might stay at our table drinking coffee and I would demonstrate a little card trick to her. More often than not this resulted in somebody wandering over to tell me how easy it was to fool a woman but that he could see through it. When the Gull accepted an invitation to sit with us I knew I had him. Every time a foolish man took my bait I could be sure of taking enough to pay for our supper and a hansom home.<br /><br />Emma decided to make friends on one occasion. Accordingly on visiting the powder room that evening Emma spoke to a young lady from the group of Nobs across from us. The girl was looking in a mirror and adjusting a hat pin.<br />‘I told her I thought her hat was the most charming hat I’d ever seen.She put the mirror in her bag, snapped the bag shut and said. ‘’Well I don’t take that as a compliment coming from the likes of you.’’ I was struck dumb Ernest. There was no reason for being so nasty after I’d complimented her stupid hat.’<br />Emma was close to tears.<br /><br />‘ You should stop trying to be liked by those people. They’ll always despise you because they don’t know where you come from and they are afraid you’ll be a thief or worse.’<br />‘They’re afraid of me?’<br />‘Yes, afraid of you and me or of anybody who’s a bit different.’<br />Emma suddenly smiled across the room; one of the women was looking in our direction. Then Emma raised her hand and pointed the gypsy curse at her all the while smiling broadly. I saw the woman start in her chair and clutch at the arm of her companion. He listened to her, looked across at me ,then shook her off and resumed chatting to his cronies.<br />‘You see? He was thinking that if he had come across I might pull a knife on him. So he turned away. They are afraid Em, remember that.’<br /><br />After a year there was enough cash to move to a rented house. Now that I had enough to need a strongbox I found the desire to live in a safer area. <br />The house was in Hackney, actually in lower Clapton near the Pond. A genteel area not ruffian ridden like the Mile End. Emma pronounced it suitable as soon as she saw the frontage. The entrance was reached by a flight of stone steps guarded by a pair of battered gargoyles. She thought they looked grand and that they were the thing people would notice rather than the paint flaking off the front door.<br />Emma was often right about appearances so the gargoyles stayed and I paid a lad a shilling to repaint the door.<br />We hired a maid of all work named Kat and Emma insisted she have a ‘best’ apron hanging always close to the front door so that both servant and house would look ‘respectable’. Kat was also to sleep in Emma’s dressing room. I was not totally displeased by this change of circumstances. Emma was still highly desirable but change adds spice to life. I’d become heavily involved with one of the chorus girls and she was wearing me out. Emma hadn’t noticed because she usually climbed into my bed in the mornings when my strength had revived.<br />We might have stayed as we were indefinitely but for the theatre burning down. <br /><br />On a Wednesday evening in May one of the limelights flared and caught the curtains at the close of the singer’s act that was before ours. As the dancing girls left the stage I winked at Polly, the pretty creature and she giggled.<br /> Emma and I were waiting ready to step forward and begin when the right side curtain in front of us became a sheet of flame. We could hear screams from the auditorium but the flames were headed back-stage. I pushed Emma and told her to get out of the stage door on the left side of the building as I grabbed a fire bucket. I wasn’t intentionally brave that night; everything happened so quickly that there was no time to think about what I was doing; several of the stagehands joined me to try and stop the fire. We managed to drop the flaming curtain to the floor and beat out the flames but behind it the wooden flats had already caught. It didn’t take long for us to realise that this fire was too fast for us. There was little confusion back stage because most of us had experienced fires before. We were out on the street before the fire engine arrived. I don’t know why I led the firemen back inside, I may have been fuddled by the smoke, but I hadn’t seen Polly come out and guessed she might be waiting in my dressing room for me. The silly chit would never have had the sense to look out the door at the ruckus.<br />So I had to go back in. All I did was lead the way through the passages towards the stage and show them the blaze. Once the firemen had got busy I hurried to the dressing room, opened my door and sure enough Polly was lying on my couch disrobed and now unconscious. I threw her over my shoulder and headed out. As I turned past the wings. I heard creaking over my head and felt sparks igniting my hair and skin . As I picked my way through falling debris I looked up and saw a gantry (terminology?) lurching downwards. I yelled ‘Look Out above’ at the top of my voice; fortunately the firemen heard me and in some sort of huddle we forced our way out as the roof timbers crashed into the building.<br />In the morning newspapers I was a hero.<br />It must have been the manager who decided to milk the fire for publicity. He’d been in the pub across the way when it all happened, but claimed that he was an eye-witness to me ‘rescuing’ three firemen from certain death. The article on the front page was illustrated by a drawing of the handsome ‘’Ernesto Mystic Maestro’’ dragging a semi conscious fireman through lurid flames with a swooning yet fully clothed damsel around my neck. Emma was much displeased about Polly when she guessed why the girl had been late to leave the theatre,but our little house was besieged by the curious and she wasn’t one to disappoint them.<br /><br />Indoors I was bandaged, coughing and wretching; out on the doorstep Emma,wearing her best satin wrapper with hair hanging around her head like silk, gave interviews.<br />She told the reporters how brave I’d been which was music to my ears and true in a manner of speaking. <br />I waved from the window but the press were hanging on Emma’s words.She went on to tell them that I was her servant, majordomo was her exact choice of wording. It was my duty to protect her because she was a russian princess who had only been allowed to come to England once it was ‘guaranteed’ that she would be safe in my care. The reporters smirked when she said this. Emma blushed,I didn’t know that she could blush until then.<br />Naturally rescuing her- Princess Sophia- had been my first duty and only then had I returned to the flames. As I was now incapacitated Emma was moving to an Hotel where she would remain if I couldn’t resume my duties.<br /><br />Emma came back into the house after this announcement and I heard her tell Kat to pack. Then she entered the front room.<br />‘ You bitch. How dare you suggest that I’m a Gelding to those reporters. That was unforgivable.<br />‘That’s good. You won’t mind that I’m leaving.’<br />‘You’re not really going. You can’t, we are a class act and I’ll sue you if you go.’<br />‘ We don’t have a contract Ernest, you never even given me that as security.I am going because you are an unfaithful dog. I knew you had your eyes on that little red-head bitch, but I hadn’t guessed that you were bedding her yet. <br /> ‘I have been your devoted lover and your hard-working assistant and all this time you’ve been working your way through the entire chorus line. Well this is the last straw. You and that Floosie sprawled across the front pages of the gutter press.<br />I will not be ruined by your behaviour. I can manage my own life and I should have left a long time ago.’<br />She spun around and left slamming the door as hard as she could.<br /><br />I decided not to worry. Emma would come back. She needed me; who else could manipulate an audience for her? Who else would give her the spotlight and ten percent of his earnings to squander? She’d be crying and crawling back in days and in the meantime Polly would soothe my burns.<br /> I knew that I wasn’t heartless, I had been good to Emma; both generous and affectionate. This was just like those times when she stamped her foot and broke crockery. Making up was always an exciting process, rather like making love to a tigress who might scratch deeper than warranted. I was looking forward to that and decided that Polly was no substitute. I showed Polly the door and pondered a while. That remark about me had been viscious but understandable I supposed but<br />what did she mean about going to ‘an hotel’. Unless she’d been picking pockets in the lobby Emma had never set foot in anything grander than a lodging house. I’d not asked where she was going because it was probable that she’d sleep on a park bench, but when she didn’t come home after the first night I surmised that she’d gone somewhere with Kat.<br /><br />It was not until three days after she left that I had real cause for concern.<br /> I’d been trying to shaved when the doctor arrived to check my burns and for payment. When I went to my cash box it wasn tucked far back beneath the bed as usual.<br />Taking the key from my pocket I raised the lid and reached in and felt nothing.<br />Dragging the box clear of the bedding I threw the lid back and saw that it was empty.<br />Immediately I knew that Emma had cleaned me out. There had been almost thirty pounds in the box along with my gold cufflinks. The jewellery box on her nightstand looked as it always did, overflowing with Emma’s geegaws,but I’d recently bought her some pearl earrings and they were gone too.<br /><br />‘She planned this. The bitch, the ungrateful little bitch. I’ll beat her black and blue when I get hold of her.’<br /><br />I stormed down the staircase before I was reminded that I’d no way of laying hands on her and the doctor was frowning at me as if I’d gone insane.<br /><br />I think I nearly did end up in the madhouse in the weeks and months after Emma’s betrayal. I drank as I searched for her and cursed her as I drank.<br />My father told me that women and dogs were better for beating and he always treated my mother no better than one of his hounds.<br />‘A man goes out and works hard. My dogs earn my money for me so I feed them, but I don’t fuss them. They might get uppity and not work so well if I did. An’ women are the same. Feed them and work them and take the stick to them because they’ll get bothersome if you don’t.’<br />My mother ran away when I was twelve and a few months later one of the dogs attacked my father and chewed his arm badly so I decided he was wrong about both of them.<br />I never had a dog myself but I had a lot of women and they aren’t all the same.Some of them did behave better if you bossed them, but even there I always found threats more effective than sticks. If a woman isn’t sure what’ll happen next she’ll be cautious; but if she knows you’re going to hit her she’ll turn one day just like that dog.<br />Most of my women did fine just from me telling them that I cared about them. They were an easy handle if you just said the right words sometimes.<br /><br />Emma had never been straightforward. I treated her kindly when I first took her up and she very quickly started misbehaving. So I let her know that I was no fool and came down hard on her, but then she’d love me right back into place. I let it go in those early months. She was young, only a kid really and she couldn’t have been that wised up about men. But maybe Emma was born to play with a person’s heart and mind because she was good at it.<br /><br />After she left I tried to work out her ways. Sitting with a bottle in my hand I’d bring her back to mind. I’d be sitting with my account book and Emma would kneel on the floor close by; she’d say nothing and she’d sit perfectly still looking at the fire or the pattern on the carpet. I’d work on but I couldn’t ignore her.<br /><br />‘What are you doing?’ I’d look at her and she’d look at me with those eyes half shielded by her lashes.<br />‘I’m dreaming.’<br />‘What are you dreaming about?’<br />‘You Ernest. I’m dreaming that you’ll touch my hair and kiss me.’<br /><br />Then I’d be on the floor next to her and I’d run my hand over her hair and she’d lift her face to me and I’d kiss her. The accounts would wait until the next day.<br /><br />Another time we’d be leaving the theatre and walking the street. Emma would be looking in every doorway and at every carriage that passed. I’d ask her what she was doing and she wouldn’t answer. If I asked again she’d smile but still say nothing. If I grew annoyed Emma would cross the street or turn and go back the way we’d come . I was always afraid she’d get into trouble because she looked so vulnerable and so I’d go after her. Then just as soon as she’d begun teasing me she would stop and rush into my arms. <br />Once I stood my ground and waited for her to stop playing with me. She didn’t come back. She vanished and I didn’t see her again until she arrived, on time, for the next evening’s performance. She rain into the dressing room crying and trembling and I comforted her and never asked where she’d been.<br /><br />I know now that Emma was in charge of me and not the other way around. The tantrums, the frenzied delicious love-making, her sudden appearances and disappearances all confused and dazzled me.<br /><br />I couldn’t believe that she’d gone for good this time, that’s why I kept hunting for her. I didn’t try to get into another theatre because I had no act. I just played cards for money and did some street magic. I lost the house when I defaulted on the rent. I didn’t care about that but it made me more desperate because now there was nowhere for Emma to come back to and I imagined her returning only to find strangers living there. She must have found work and the only work she knew was theatre so Stage doors became my focus. I moved round from one to another convinced tht Emma would walk out the door and into my arms sooner or later.<br /><br />I was sleeping rough by this time. I got rolled a few times and in this way I lost my muffler and shoes. When I found a corner to sleep I dreamt of Emma walking past and calling for me but not seeing Ernest in the wretch I’d become.<br />I didn’t sleep much because the nights were colder so I started seeing Emma everywhere I looked. I was almost run down several times from running into the road chasing my vision. In the end I must have just collapsed but I have no memory of that.<br /><br />The room I woke in was large but it was crammed to overflowing with crates and bales.I lay on a small campaign bed and somebody stood over me with a steaming mug. There was a wonderful smell coming from the mug.<br /><br />‘Good morning and welcome. You’ve slept long and I think you must be hungry now.’ He moved the mug towards me and I clasped it and gulped the burning soup down as fast as I could.<br />‘You’ve not been well for several days. A fever had you in it’s grip, but you look better now.’ he smiled.<br />When I tried to ask for more soup, no words,no voice only a sound like a crow came from me. My benefactor smiled again and said.<br />‘I think I can guess what you mean. Come with me and you shall have more in your belly.’<br /><br />I tried to stand up on my own but my legs gave way. The man was prepared for this and caught me before I went down.<br />‘You’re still sick and must go slowly.’ He steered me with an arm around my waist and we went out of the room into an office. He sat me in a chair and turned to a side table where there was more soup on a gas ring and bread in chunks on a plate.<br />He passed the plate to me while He refilled my mug.<br />Then he pulled up another chair and began to talk.<br /><br />Simon was his name. Simon Peter he laughed; he said his mother had wanted him to go into the church and had given him a good name, but he’d gone into the family business which was in cargo shipments. This was one of their warehouses and this was his office. He liked to be alone so that he could concentrate but his father’s office was just across the courtyard.<br />Simon had arrived at work one morning to find me rolled up in his doorway. He’d not been able to wake me and had seen that I was sweating and moaning he’d had a couple of the warehousemen carry me inside; and there I’d lain for three days and nights. There were always several watchmen on duty in the warehouses and they’d had instructions to call Simon from his house if I woke in the night.<br /><br />‘Why did you take me in?’ I managed to croak when he drew breath.<br /><br />‘It’s possible that some of my mother’s kindness rubbed off on me. I really couldn’t let you die on my doorstep it wouldn’t have looked good would it?’<br /><br />He moved on to tell me that one of his interests was prison visiting and through talking to men in the city gaols Simon had come to realise how priviledged his own situation was.<br />‘I hope I don’t sound like the pious do-gooder. I have employed some of these men when they were released and most of them reward me with hard work, so it’s more a case of enlightened self-interest.’<br /><br />A messenger boy came in then and after Simon had read the note he said.<br />‘My father needs me to go down to one of our ships. You ought to stay here and rest, but I’ll understand if you’re gone when I get back.’<br />When I’d eaten more of the bread I went back in the warehouse to put on my boots. I fully intended to leave but looking at the cot I was overcome with the desire for sleep and lay down intending to nap, but it was growing dark when I woke again.<br /><br />This time I felt stronger and got my jacket and boots on before I went back to the office to get out of the building.<br />Simon was at his desk.<br />‘Hullo. Would you like a wash and shave? there’s a lavatory and a sink in there and a razor and soap.’ He pointed at another door I’d not noticed before then bent his head to his figures again.<br />I washed and came back as he put down his pen.<br />‘Thank you.’ I said ‘I don’t deserve your kindness, but I’m grateful for it.’ as I headed for the door Simon said.<br /><br />‘Maybe you have a home to go to, but if not you’re welcome to stay in there a while. When you feel up to it you can help out with loading the carts. I always have work and wages for a willing man.’ Again the smile.<br /><br />All at once his suggestion seemed the sensible choice to make;perhaps because I was desperate and starving, although I like to think it was more that I could see how good a man I’d met.<br /> At any rate I said that was very good of him and he gave me half a crown to get some food. Then he took me out into the courtyard and I met Arthur Brown, the night watchman. Simon told him to let me in when I came back. Then he bade us both goodnight and went home.<br /><br />‘Another stray. Gawd Almighty this place‘ll be turned into a home for the feeble-minded soon.’ said Arthur Brown. He looked me over and sighed.<br />‘Don’t you be out drinking or I’ll bar the door on you, see if I don’t.’<br />Then I was back on the street and scratching my head over the strange twists of Fate.<br /><br />I went into the first tavern down the street. It was busy and cheerful and after I’d had pie and mash and a glass of porter I began to take stock. I needed money and a roof over my head and it seemed that luck was giving me that. If I could start a new life for a time it might help me to stop craving Emma once I was back on my feet I could resume my search. There was still money in my pocket so I ate another pie, drank another porter and went back to Marshall’s.<br /> That evening I thought it was just Fate that had me pass out at Marshall’s Yard. I soon learned it was more than that. God was offering me a second chance through Simon Marshall.<br /><br />Mother had been a regular church attender before she ran off and I learnt to read at Sunday school. When she went I made up my mind that I’d succeed in life despite my troubles. I kept reading and taught myself letters. Later I learnt how to tot up money from working on a market stall, that’s also when I learnt that you can sell anything if you pitch it right. The man who gave me a start was called <br />Enry, just Enry, I never knew if it was his first or last name. He knew my dad and owed him money so he took me on to pay the old man back. Then he told me I was useful and kept me as his assistant. He sold tea, flour, sugar cheaper than in a shop. It wasn’t good quality I found out but there were those who couldn’t afford any better. Enry always swore that he never put anything harmful in the stuff he sold. Only a little chalk or dust maybe.<br />Anyway I learnt how to sell whatever we had. I always gave the old ladies a pinch more; that way they thought they had one over on Enry and we never got any complaints. <br />I didn’t go home except to sleep but hung around in the pubs because the people inside were sometimes free with their cash. There were the drunks who dropped coins, they’d drop three and I ‘d give them back two.The whores’d sometimes slip me a coin to find them a customer, the bookie who needed a runner might catch my eye as did the gamblers who needed a distraction while they slipped cards to the bottom of the deck.<br />That’s where the magic started. It was too tempting to trick the foolish. I taught myself a couple of coin moves and then a few card tricks and I’d entertain at the tables. <br />I never thought of it as sinful or wicked. It was surviving and slowly it grew to be decent money. Where was the harm? God didn’t have a presence in the public houses of the East end, nor in the theatres when I got that far. My life was on course for success until Emma.<br /><br />But never mind that, now I had a place; very different from what I’d expected or wanted, but a place to start again.Kritihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08001806886621335963noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18520055.post-49489957502818275402009-09-07T10:22:00.002+01:002009-09-07T10:26:53.916+01:00Openers<a rel="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/"><img alt="Creative Commons License" style="border-width:0" src="http://i.creativecommons.org/l/by-nc-nd/3.0/88x31.png" /></a><br />This work is licenced under a <a rel="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/">Creative Commons Licence</a>.<br /><br /><br />Okay, this is the 1st draft of the 1st page of 'Emma'.<br /><br />It's taken a few efforts to find the right place to start from. <br />I've decided to start not at the very beginning but still early on, where Emma meets Ernest.I chose this point mainly because he is a largely hostile witness to her story.<br /><br />Any comments are most welcome<br /><br /><br />Emma was enchanting, that is why I stole her from Mephistopheles. I confess that my acquisition of her services was not based solely on the prospect of financial gain. She had unearthly looks, not great beauty but it was hard to take your eyes off her. She looked ethereal but her character was that of a scheming minx. I found that combination of fragility and deviance irresistible and fell in love with her.<br />Having told you that my emotions were involved you may understand why my later judgement in regard to Emma Butcher was flawed.<br /><br />I saw her for the first time on stage at the Alhambra. She made a brief appearance each night as a Fairy captured by that incompetent illusionist.<br /> Mephistopheles, such an arrogant stage name, placed the girl in a box and made a vast bother with chains and padlocks, even throwing the keys away before her cries from captivity softened his heart and he ‘magically’ freed her.<br />It was a tedious climax and the applause was directed to the pretty assistant rather than the Conjurer.<br /><br />I sat through this performance on three consecutive nights before I confirmed my first impression; that he had no right to the girl and that I owed it to her to rescue her and make her a central part of my own superior act.<br /><br />I had learnt that she was not his daughter; back stage gossip said that he’d fetched her home with him one night to the great annoyance of his wife. Apparently Emma had attempted to pick his pocket and instead of beating her he chose to make her his new assistant. He told Flossie his wife that the girl was very agile, she’d wriggled like a worm on a hook when he caught hold of her. <br /><br />This wiriness was not obvious because people tended to be held by Emma’s large eyes and silvery hair and failed to see that her thin body was muscular and lithe.<br />Flossie had reluctantly agreed that the girl could squirm into the small compartments used in Mephistopheles stage paraphernalia and so Emma had been a part of the act for several weeks.<br />I went to visit Flossie.<br />The conversation had run along these lines;<br />‘ I wanted to visit you Madam to offer my praise for your husband’s act. He is a master of illusion. I have seen him often in years past and always admired his skill, but I am concerned. May I ask is he quite well?’<br />Flossie looked puzzled and I went on.<br />‘It’s only that I feel his assistant may be failing him; she does prance about a lot and her shrieks from the box are really quite irritating. He almost dropped the magic curtain too soon last night. I was right side in the wings and she was still clambering up on the box, she is clumsy I fear.....’<br />The lady was looking discomfited now.<br />‘ Please don’t think Madam that this is a criticism of your husband I only fear that he may be too close to the girl to see her faults and that perhaps he is sickening for something?’<br />‘Yes Sir you may well be right.Thank you for your kind words. I shall speak with him.’<br /><br />I made my goodbyes and left feeling quite smug. The very next day Emma was thrown out and was running down the street pursued by a furious Flossie when I stepped out from an alley and pulled Emma into a doorway.<br /><br />‘Hush keep still. If the old girl catches you she’ll knock you senseless.’<br /><br />Emma struggled in my arms, but I had the measure of her.<br /><br />‘ You are back on the streets my girl and that’s not the place for you.’<br /><br />She tossed her head ‘ And you’d be knowing where I should be do you? If you want a personal whore you’ve got the wrong girl here.’<br /><br />‘Emma, dear girl. I am offering you a good position. You will be on a stage alone with all eyes on you.’<br /><br />‘You think that’s where I ought to be ?’ She’d relaxed a little.<br /><br />‘I do and so do you. Come with me and I’ll explain over some pie and mash.’<br /><br />That did the trick, Emma admitted to being ravenous. Flossie had half starved her while she’d lived with them. <br /><br /><br />----------<br /><br />Next section Ernest explains act and they start out on life tog.Kritihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08001806886621335963noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18520055.post-75837988559047679832009-08-30T10:44:00.003+01:002009-08-30T10:49:23.050+01:00The Hunnish Princess<a rel="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/"><img alt="Creative Commons License" style="border-width:0" src="http://i.creativecommons.org/l/by-nc-nd/3.0/88x31.png" /></a><br />This work is licenced under a <a rel="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/">Creative Commons Licence</a>.<br /><br />I had this notion for a collection of Traveller's Tales told in a medieval caravanserai. This is the first and so far only one.<br />The idea for this one came from a bit in Bruce Chatwin's 'Songlines' where he briefly relates seeing a grave excavated in Eastern Europe, the grave contained female bones with an eagle's corpse on her breast.<br /><br />Tales from the Han: number one<br /><br />The Hunnish Princess<br /><br />A great many years ago in the wild lands between Istanbul and Novgorod there once lived a beautiful girl. She had no fine jewels, but she had rich furs to keep her warm on horseback. She had no solid house but she had gaudy silks to decorate her tent. <br />She was a Hun, a girl who had sat her own saddle since she was four years old and whose hunting skills filled the bellies of family and friends.<br />Her name was Salska and it was her curse to be loved by two men.<br /><br />The man who first loved her was called Hunye. He stayed always close by her and so he had saved her from a fire that killed her sister. Afterwards he took Salska and her mother under his protection.<br />Despite his love Hunye never asked Salska to marry him although her mother begged it. He said someone so lovely deserved a young and virile partner not an ageing horse-master with burns that scarred his face. But he always cared for Salska and dreamed of her at night. <br /><br />The other man in Salska's life was called Uman and he was a handsome youth. <br />He watched the black hair fall across Salska's face when she skinned rabbits. He sighed when the sun shone in her eyes as she strung her bow. In short he adored her. <br />Uman was an elder son and likely to inherit the leadership of his clan. This made him a worthy suitor; so when he came to ask for Salska her mother sighed and agreed the dowry. There were no flaws in Uman's nature, other than those of all young men and Salska was not in love with Hunye or anyone else therefore when at last he summoned his courage and told her to marry him she accepted the decision.<br /><br />But her dead sister didn't.<br /><br />Maykor, when living, had made all the decisions. She was older than Salska by an entire morning, having been born as Dawn rose while her twin hadn't struggled free of the womb until after Noon. Maykor had never let Salska forget this or do anything without reference to her. Salska being easy in her nature had never objected to this state of affairs and when Maykor died Salska simply waited for someone else to tell her what to do. Sometimes at night Salska had strange dreams. She dreamt of flying far up in the sky to where the blue turned black, but her days were bound up with the tasks of women. When she had free time she played with the dogs and the babies. When her husband demanded her attention she gave it to him.<br /><br />Maykor was unable to prevent the wedding, her spirit now was constrained in the body of a Golden Eagle, but she began to haunt Salska. At every opportunity Maykor came to Salska and called her name. She flew past low and fast when Salska rode, she sat on the poles of her sister's tent, she hopped after her sister when the girl collected berries. It didn't take long until Salska recognised the voice of her sister in the eagle's cry.<br /><br />"You must kill Uman. He must die and you will get his gold. Then you can marry Hunye and be happy for my sake." As Salska rode Maykor repeated this message day after day. Her sister stopped her ears. Maykor grew ever more frustrated and ever more angry. Whenever the clan made camp the Eagle would pester Salska and the other women began to mutter that she was bewitched.<br /><br />To gain peace Salska eventually spoke to the bird. " I do not want to kill Uman. He is a good husband to me. He loves me as he should: men sing of his deeds. He gets much ransom and he brings me silken trophies. Why should I kill a good man?"<br /><br />"You must kill him in order that you can marry Hunye. Uman is too strong to die of a fever or a fight."<br /><br />"But why do you want me to marry Hunye? He is kind and always thoughtful, but he is old and spends too much time with horses."<br /><br />" Because I love him, stupid girl. On the night of the fire I asked Hunye to come to our tent. I wanted to give myself to him. He is wise and gentle and I longed for soft hands on my skin; the likes of Uman are always rough men."<br /><br />"I still don't understand." said Salska "How could my marriage to Hunye help you, it would surely make you jealous to see me in his arms."<br /><br />Maykor's voice had laughter in it " Once you are married to Hunye we can exchange places. You have lived three summers since the fire. I want my turn."<br /><br />Salska paled and could no longer bear the Eagle's fierce gaze.<br /><br />" You must agree that it is only fair. You have a good man. Life as an Eagle has it's compensations, but I have longed for Hunye every day. I will give you only a short time to think, I have had too much brooding. Meet me tomorrow and I will instruct you how best to take Uman's life."<br />The Eagle slipped sideways from it's perch and soared into the clouds above.<br /><br />That night Salska could not find sleep. She lay in Uman's arms while the tears rolled into her hair. Finally understanding came into Salska's mind; she cared for Uman, she wanted to give him sons, she loved her life and it was not her fault that Maykor was dead. She didn't want to do as Maykor ordered, she wanted to fight her sister.<br /><br />Eventually Salska fell into an uneasy sleep, in which she dreamt of the Eagle's eyes boring into her and stealing her spirit. She cried out and reached for Uman, who covered her face with kisses. Salska rubbed her breasts and moaned. He grunted and pulled her to him. <br /><br />Before daylight Salska was awake again. In her sleep she had dreamt of going to seek Hunye. As she crept through the tent-flap Uman woke. He said nothing but feigned sleep. He watched his wife steal away and collecting his bow he chose to follow .<br /><br />"Hunye. Hunye." Salska walked around the ring of horses calling for him. A figure pushed through the steaming flanks.<br /><br />"Why are you here." He asked soft and smiling.<br /><br />"My sister wants me to kill Uman. Come with me please and speak with her. I fear her reason has gone. You can talk with horses, perhaps you can talk sense to an Eagle." Salska hurried off towards the rock where she had last seen the Eagle.<br /><br />Hunye followed, he'd heard the women's talk. He dropped back as he saw the great bird swoop, then settle on the rock. It's voice, the voice of Maykor came clear to him.<br /><br />" Ah sister, you are prompt. Look at the ground and you'll see a mound of berries, poisonous but kind. Mix these in Uman's beer and he'll not notice. He will sleep deep enough so you can smother him."<br /><br />"What then, what happens next?" Salska asked loud enough for Hunye to hear.<br /><br />"Then you raise the alarm. I do not want you blamed for this. Cry bitter tears, rend your clothes and when Uman is cold go to Hunye and declare your love. At that point you and I will change places. I shall have Hunye and you shall soar above my wedding feast ."<br /><br />Hunye had heard enough, he left his hide at a run and shouted. "No. You cannot do this Maykor. I have never loved you. I love Salska. You shan't harm her."<br /><br />The Eagle screamed when she saw Hunye.<br />"Treacherous bitch!" Maykor flew direct at Salska's face with talons spread.<br />Hunye leapt in and grappled with the bird, stabbing at it with his knife.<br /><br />The shrill shrieking and shouting ended abruptly as an arrow sang its way into the melee.<br />All movement was caught in a heart's beat. <br />Then the bird fell to the ground, Hunye's knife sticking in it's breast. Hunye held Salska on her feet as blood ran from the arrow in her back.<br /><br />Uman ran to her and sobbed. "My lovely Bride. How could she plot my death with you Horsemaster?"<br />He pulled Salska into his embrace." I loved you always Salska and pity me I still do."<br /><br />The girl's eyes focussed and she whispered.<br />" I never loved you till last night. Forgive me. But I never loved Hunye at all.."<br /><br />Hunye said "She speaks the truth as we all must at point of death. It's true I loved her, but Salska never looked my way. Maykor did offer herself to me, but she had no value in my eyes. I rejected her and it soured even her new life." He touched the feathers caught in Salska's hair.<br /><br /><br />The men stood a long while over the grave. Salska was lain in the ground wearing her wedding gown. Her mother placed evergreens all around her. Uman laid gold leaf on her breast, then Hunye spread the Eagle's body over Salska with it's wings stretched protectively.<br /><br /><br />Hunye cut his beard and the mane from his mare and dropped these offerings onto the corpses. He said " In the next life may they both be always happy. I look forward to our next meeting" and turned his face away.<br />Uman slashed his arm and let copious blood drip on the ground. "This woman shall be mourned without tears, but with my blood in token of our reunion."<br /><br /> He gave the order for the grave to be filled. Then Hunye fetched the horses and the clan rode away.<br />==================Kritihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08001806886621335963noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18520055.post-23686813133144094282009-08-30T10:41:00.002+01:002009-08-30T10:50:34.657+01:00A Dark Night<a rel="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/"><img alt="Creative Commons License" style="border-width:0" src="http://i.creativecommons.org/l/by-nc-nd/3.0/88x31.png" /></a><br />This work is licenced under a <a rel="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/">Creative Commons Licence</a>.<br /><br /><br />A piece of flash fiction, inspired by wondering what flash fiction was and entered for a Guardian competition with a Late Night theme. I think my story didn't quite fit the bill.......<br /><br />It was late. You could tell that even in this place without time. There were subtle changes: pearls of moisture on a wall, a hazing of heat near the entrance, indistinct bird chirrups outside. Dawn would come, they would arrive and it would be too late.<br />This must happen under the secrecy of dark; rich, intense, all covering blackness. When the story got out there must be no witnesses. There must be mystery or it was all for nothing.<br />However there were several eyes watching. <br /> A spider swung on her line. She saw the matted hair; this could be a great spot to anchor her web.She observed the head thoughtfully but noted no life breath so she spun her silver. She hurried to secure her snare and only glanced at the man. She was concerned to finish before Day brought the flies <br />Wandering across the sandy slab a beetle bumped into cold flesh and dislodged a flake of dried blood.The beetle skittered but his collision disturbed no-one.The beetle was hungry but wanted no accidents. He maneouvred his smooth cased back between the corpse and the blood. He felt afraid but started to move his feast to a secure place.<br />They worked hard but Spider snd Beetle both felt it immediately, their bodies jerked as particles of air trembled. If there’d been time they might have believed it was an earhquake, but time ran out. Searing blue light transfixed the creatures while immense power surged through them. For long seconds both of them expected to die. Then it was over. The beetle staggered and fell on his back because body and bloodfleck had disappeared. The spider swung loose in the charged air, her knots tying nothing in place. <br />The man was gone, only a sweet smell remained.Kritihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08001806886621335963noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18520055.post-8507653084136030502009-08-30T10:38:00.001+01:002009-08-30T10:41:05.039+01:00In the Tub<a rel="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/"><img alt="Creative Commons License" style="border-width:0" src="http://i.creativecommons.org/l/by-nc-nd/3.0/88x31.png" /></a><br />This work is licenced under a <a rel="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/">Creative Commons Licence</a>.<br /><br /><br />Here is the first of my short stories. This is one of a tiny collection of stories featuring Archimedes and Mrs Archimedes. The other stories aren't yet fit to be seen<br /><br /><br />In the Tub<br /><br /><br />Archimedes best ideas came in his bath. This, he told Ariadne, was the sole reason he resorted to the bathhouse so often. Tonight playing with his sponge, he mused.<br /><br /> “Of course the sponge doesn’t displace much water in this large volume of suds. I myself dislodge considerably more.” <br /> <br />Wifely curses and hammering echoed through the night and ruffled the surface of the water. Archimedes sighed as the waterlogged sponge sank.<br />Moments later Ariadne bustled in. She proffered wine. Her other hand grasped a crucible of molten copper.<br /><br />“Something new for dinner. Pizza. I’m baking it in the ore furnace. Don’t be long or I’ll give it to the dog.” <br /><br />She disappeared. The hammering resumed.<br />Archimedes frowned. True, Ariadne’s talent for invention extended to the kitchen, but she was fonder of the dog than of him.Slurping wine he lounged, staring through the rushes at itinerant stars; the constellations invariably soothed his discord .Supine and buoyant it occurred to him that stars might also float.<br /><br />” A liquid sky; such volume of stars would need a considerable sea. <br />Well, that would stop Helios’ chariot setting Heaven afire wouldn’t it?”<br /><br /> He drank deep and filed that thought. Ariadne returned carrying skeins of wet yarn.<br /><br />“ What do you think of this colour? I used those weeds above the shit-tank.”<br /><br />“Will we ever hear the last of your drains, Ariadne?<br /><br /> He glanced at the dripping mess. <br /><br /> “Yes it’s a nice blue, like a Summer’s sky.”<br /><br />Archimedes reached for the flagon.<br /><br /> “Blue sky. Why not pink sky do you suppose? Why choose that colour?”<br /><br />Ariadne shook her head and departed.<br />Archimedes sat up abruptly.<br /><br />“Eureka. It’s because the sea is blue. Such universal harmony, such design ! The sky another ocean with stars instead of islands.” <br /><br />He liked this phrase so much he repeated it. <br /><br />“Stars instead of islands.”<br /><br />Water dripped onto the dog. Archimedes, inspired now, shouted.<br /><br />“If there is water, perhaps there are also fish in the sky.”<br /><br />Ariadne’s voice interrupted this revelation.<br /><br />“ You’ll rot like stinking fish in that tub someday. My mother’s arriving tomorrow. She thinks you’re insane, so no bathing allowed while she’s here. Use the shower I built last month, it saves water too.<br /><br />“More to the point, dinner’s ready”.<br /><br />“Coming my love.”<br /><br />Archimedes squelched free of the bath. Starry reflections shimmered briefly on the water, then spiralled down the wastepipe and were gone.Kritihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08001806886621335963noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18520055.post-3494029761529691862009-01-13T15:14:00.003+00:002009-01-13T15:23:03.433+00:00It might kill several birds with the same stone<a rel="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/"><img alt="Creative Commons License" style="border-width: 0pt;" src="http://i.creativecommons.org/l/by-nc-nd/3.0/88x31.png" /></a><br />This work is licenced under a <a rel="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/">Creative Commons Licence</a>.<br /><br />Well I've signed up for a 2yr novel course now. I'm intending to write another story set in the same period as 'Lizzie' but a different character who has a different life, although the two of them will meet.<br /><br />It might kill several birds with the same stone<br /><br />Offline work is going slowly with 'Lizzie'. I'm currently working out her timeline and thinking about what outside events I want to set in to her story; I think that's what got me started on the other novel idea.<br /><br />I really enjoy researching and I'm enjoying playing around with this material more than anything else I've attempted.Kritihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08001806886621335963noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18520055.post-53120105707975061902009-01-05T09:58:00.003+00:002009-01-05T10:09:10.298+00:00A little general info about 'Lizzie'<a rel="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/"><img alt="Creative Commons License" style="border-width: 0pt;" src="http://i.creativecommons.org/l/by-nc-nd/3.0/88x31.png" /></a><br />This work is licenced under a <a rel="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/">Creative Commons Licence</a>.<br /><br />The novel that will be taking shape here is set in the mid 19th century. It takes place in England, Greece and France. The heroine is Lizzie and that's the working title too.<br />I shall be attempting to write something that has realism, drama, romance (just for starters).<br />It may be a woman's story but I want my male characters to be interesting too so I'll be particularly glad of comments on them.<br />The first draft, unedited, chapter of Lizzie is below.<br /><br />Best of luck to all of us!Kritihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08001806886621335963noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18520055.post-91201700401764168492008-11-27T17:03:00.000+00:002008-11-27T17:05:48.721+00:00Having just finished NaNoWriMo today I am too whacked to consider editing it now.<br />BUT I shall edit my masterwork after Christmas and post it here.Kritihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08001806886621335963noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18520055.post-78937317459671431592008-09-08T08:31:00.001+01:002008-09-08T08:32:36.218+01:00Still here thenI was really chuffed to find the old place is still here.<br />I need to do some dusting, but there'll be some new furniture arriving before long.Kritihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08001806886621335963noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18520055.post-19568754730363280902007-01-08T07:29:00.000+00:002007-01-08T07:30:54.126+00:00On the RocksStill on the rocks theme we had lots of fun; or at least I did, exploring ruins.<br />You were consistent in damning 'piles of old rocks' whenever I mentioned the charms of a proposed trip, but I must have been convincing because you always came along.<br />In fact the last successful outing we made was that January visit to the Roman remains over the mountains. We both enjoyed wandering among those fallen columns and we still had hope for the future. There was a wistful note to that day because you were about to start chemo, but we planned to return in the Autumn when you would have more strength.<br /><br /> I'd rather think about the time we found the US army fort.<br /> Southern Utah is big. We'd been in search of dinosaurs and found their footprints. I still have photos of you measuring the beast's shoe size. It had taken a couple of hours to find the tracks, they weren't well sign-posted and when all's said they were mementos of a few minutes activity a very long time ago.<br /><br />We found the fort afterwards. It was set on a bend of a dry river. The buildings were above the Spring flood line and still solid to waist height. They were scanty and mean sized and I doubted there was any comfort to be had inside.<br />We talked over what a dreadful life the soldiers must've led. Months longing for any kind of traveller to break the monotony. No trees, no women only dust and wind. <br /><br />We were a lot in love that day, so the isolation made us feel exhilerated and lucky to be together.<br />Nothing else living passed by us all day; no rabbits, no snakes, no flies, no vehicles, no dust clouds, no con-trails in the sky.That fort was the closest I've ever come to the Middle of Nowhere but I remember it for you, kissing me under that empty sky.Kritihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08001806886621335963noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18520055.post-57115148589697135002007-01-06T00:17:00.000+00:002007-01-06T00:29:54.405+00:00If I could have those moments back.<span style="font-style: italic;">I'd have the moments when I said 'I'll be there in a while' as I finished a row or two of my knitting.<br /><br />I'd want those moments when you'd annoyed me and I was sulking, purposely delaying the 'kiss and make-up' time.<br /><br />Give me the moments when I took so long in the bathroom getting 'beautiful' when you'd already told me I was lovely enough.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-style: italic;"> All those moments and many more I wish I'd just spent hugging you. If I could have them back now they'd probably add up to several days and I could really use those days now!<br /><br /><br /></span><span style="font-style: italic;">We kissed and hugged plenty , but there were never enough kisses stored away to last me through these long nights. There were'nt enough hugs kept safe to keep me warm now.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-style: italic;">The love we shared then ; well I squandered it.<br /><br />I gloried in our happiness and thought the days of plenty would always be here. I should have put some in the bank, but I never expected a time to come when there'd be a shortfall. Is that how all spendthrifts are?<br /><br /></span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">I need to write down memories of you and us. I can't lose them a second time. They'll have some extra life here and I can look and read whenever I want. Other people can too, I don't mind. I'm happy for our love to be known; that keeps it real.<br /><br /></span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">So sometimes I'll use this page to put down the good stuff, the funny stuff. There really wasn't any bad stuff before the end.</span><br /><br />Rocks of All Sizes<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">A memory came to me yesterday in the pet shop. Wandering around killing time I was pricing the fish tanks till I noticed some decorative rocks.<br /><br />Remember we had lots of pretty rocks in the cafe aquarium. You remember those goldfish and how the kids liked to watch them?<br /><br />You knew I liked rocks because I was always bringing home selections from the beach and our flat was full of them.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-style: italic;">After we retired you even helped me fetch rocks back in the car to decorate our new garden. One day I found a lump of something volcanic that I lusted after. It was big and mostly yellow with lumpy pink streaks, maybe it wouldn't be to everyone's taste but I wanted it.<br /><br />I tried to excavate around it and for half an hour I struggled to free it from the sand.You and the dogs were off walking somewhere. By the time you returned I was reduced to tears of disappointment; this was one big heavy lump and it wouldn't budge.<br /><br />We went home with some pebbles.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">A few days later you went out alone in the car.When you came back the dogs were bouncing everywhere as you staggered in through the gate lugging my prized rock.<br /><br />The thing weighed at least 10 kilos and you'd carried it uphill from the beach and fetched it home for me. That rock sat on our living room floor for two years and was my prized possession.<br /><br />But I'm sorry I had to leave it behind when I left, it was too big to pack.</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">I have another 'rocky' memory.<br /><br /> One time we'd driven down to London on a winter Sunday to trawl the street markets. We arrived very early and enjoyed breakfast in someone else's cafe. Then we passed some 'arty' shops and in a window I saw some work I thought was really good.<br /><br />The artist had taken pieces of stone and had bored holes large enough to take one or more tealights, around these holes he'd set tiny metal figures.<br />Little ape-men who warmed themselves at the candle flames. The shop was shut and 'though I really loved one particular piece I knew I couldn't get it because we rarely came to London.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Christmas came that year and among my presents was a small heavy bundle. It was my little ape-man at his fire.<br /><br />You'd phoned the shop and arranged to buy the piece.<br />I still have that little man and I often warm his cold body with candles.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-style: italic;"><br />If i didn't say it at the time I was more thrilled with those two rocks than any of the other lovely things you gave me.</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"> </span>Kritihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08001806886621335963noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18520055.post-28745314570960982202006-12-28T08:01:00.000+00:002006-12-28T08:02:40.641+00:00StuffI have written nothing, zilch, nada at all since completing Nanowrimo in November '05.<br /><br />I shall be writing again in '07.<br /><br />There'll be some bits of long stuff and probably some short stuff too; I really have no idea what I'll do but whatever comes out will show up here.Kritihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08001806886621335963noreply@blogger.com0